Cubicle
by Pegasus M
Summary: Forget high school and college - you're out in the real world now. Welcome to your first day at the Pulitzer Publishing Company. Modern Day.
1. Mr President

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Newsies (unfortunately). The original characters Corky, Adren, and Polaroid belong to their respective owners (thank you, ladies!)  
**Author's Note:** In the spirit of silliness, I present "Cubicle," a modern day AU that sticks the newsboys we know and love into the real world of an office as interns and respectable(?) employees. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated. :)_

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**Chapter 01. Mr. President**

"_Ahem_. Is this thing on? Seitz. Seitz—is this damned microphone on? Speak up! What is this piece of paper you keep shoving down my throat? My what—my speech? I don't need a speech. For god's sakes man, this is a damn novel, Jonathan… All right, all right, quit squeaking and let's get on with it." Joseph Pulitzer let out another irritated _ahem_ as he addressed the large conference room. "Shut up, all of you. So you're all here, are you?" He adjusted the wire-framed glasses on the bridge of his nose and gruffly began to read the pre-prepared speech: "Welcome, summer interns, to the Pulitzer Publishing Company. You've chosen a fine place to begin your journey into the exciting world of publishing. As you know, we are an award-winning company and we continue to be one because of our talented people and most importantly, our incredible teamwork. For you historians out there, the Pulitzer story began when - what is this crap? They should all know this already! And if they don't, they shouldn't be here. Let's see here…" He waved his arms about and emitted strange sounds while clucking his tongue, skimming to the end of the speech. "We couldn't be more excited to have such brilliant potential this year. I promise you will learn a lot while you are here. This is an amazing place to be. This is a place where dreams come tr—Jonathan, this is not Disney Land."

He flattened the speech down on the podium. "_Brilliant potential_," he muttered mockingly. "I'll warn you all right now: if you don't put the work in, you'll be fired."

"We ain't even gettin' paid," someone in the audience muttered.

"What was that?" Pulitzer practically shouted, straining his ears.

He was met with silence.

"As I was saying. If you don't work, you'll be fired immediately. I don't tolerate slacking off in my company. You're not here to be lazy and do whatever you want. You're here to work and follow directions. That's the problem with this generation. No work ethic. When I was your age, I was already a Captain in the War—"

"The War of 1812?" someone else cracked. The comment was followed by a few snickers and giggles.

Pulitzer was obviously hard of hearing, for he continued on. "—and we all knew what diligence, and respect, and pride meant! That was the greatest generation of men and women. And now we've come to this, kids today who can't even wipe their own—"

"All right!" Seitz interrupted, quickly pulling the podium microphone away from Pulitzer. "What a wonderful speech, Mr. Pulitzer. Let's give a hand for the Founder and President of our company, everyone."

Despite the miserable speech, everyone politely obliged. A rather respectable applause filled the room. Pulitzer mumbled something about "hooligans needing to tuck in their shirts" before stepping off the stage and walking out through the back of the auditorium.

The President of the Pulitzer Publishing Company, Joseph Pulitzer, rarely made such appearances and presented speeches. The reason he even came out on this particular morning was mostly due to his Advisor Seitz and Assistant Jonathan's urging, and partly because, surprisingly, Pulitzer loved interns. There were always a handful of interns who were ambitious, eager, and energetic - always willing to do more work. And then there were the others who were not, but they had no choice but to do the work anyway. It was free labor. And it was completely legal.

… Perhaps it was not too surprising why Pulitzer loved having interns.

"Well, everyone," Seitz began, trying to save the moment. "We really are happy to have you here. I hope you're all excited because we've got several special events planned for this summer. And, uh… yes, refreshments and snacks are in the back, and we will get started with the rest of our intern orientation program in a bit. Please, help yourselves to the food." Seitz stepped off the stage and after having a hurried discussion with Jonathan, quickly sent the Assistant out of the auditorium.

The interns were left fiddling their thumbs.

An auburn-haired girl sitting in the middle section of the auditorium stared after the now empty stage with a look of utter confusion. "I… don't even know what just happened." Her head resting in her hands, her olive green eyes moved to and fro in uncertainty.

"Beats me," said the girl sitting to her immediate right.

"So, what are we supposed to be doing exactly?" asked another girl from behind.

"Feeding ourselves?"

The first girl shrugged. "Free food sounds good to me."

The three girls rose from their seats and made their way to the snack table near the back of the auditorium. A winding line had already formed there. They stood behind two boys, who were jovially exchanging high fives. One of them, the one with a curly mop of brown hair, was clutching at his stomach and laughing hysterically.

"The War of 1812… brilliant, Blink. Just brilliant," he said, clapping his friend on the back. His friend bowed in exaggerated appreciation.

The girls themselves exchanged a soft chuckle upon overhearing the boys. The girl with the auburn hair spoke up then, addressing the two girls. "Sorry, I didn't catch your names. Mine's Addie - well, I guess you could call me Adren around here."

"Yeah! Isn't it weird that—I'm Corky, by the way—isn't it weird that we don't go by our real names around here? That was the strangest interview question ever: 'Do you have a nickname?' I thought it was a trick question. That, or the interviewer was flirting with me and… ew. Oh, and he was wearing this blazer and it was bothering the heck out of me that day. It had these super bright polka dots _and_ stripes and it was practically screaming, 'look at me, look at me!' I barely paid any attention to what the guy was saying - I just could not stop staring at it! I honestly don't know how I even got this job after that. Anyway, sorry, I go on tangents. What's your name?" she asked the third girl.

She smiled good-naturedly, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "S'okay. Mine's Polaroid."

"It's nice to meet you girls. A—wait, did you say job?" Adren asked Corky.

"Yep! Human Resources. I'm actually not an intern, but it's my first day here so I figured I'd stick around with all the other first-timers," she explained.

"That's awesome. Did they ask you a lot of tough questions for the job interview? Because I felt like I was taking a test in mine…"

"He asked me what the first book was that President Pulitzer ever read. I had no idea," admitted Polaroid.

"Yeah, it was crazy! I've never had an interview where they drill you on the history of the company. I mean, they always say know the organization for your interview, but that was ridiculous."

"I know. But hey, congratulations on getting the job!" Adren praised sincerely. She was impressed that anyone could find a paying job in the stingy job market these days, especially one at such a renowned organization.

"Thanks!" Corky beamed. "I'm really looking forward to working here," she said, a bit coyly. As though a sudden thought occurred to her, Corky stood on her tiptoes then and scanned the auditorium.

She was obviously searching for something. "Are you waiting for someone?" Polaroid asked.

Corky returned to her feet. "Huh? Oh, no. No, just… just wondering if they have blueberry muffins," she said, a hint of a blush creeping to her cheeks.

Neither of the other girls took notice as they finally came upon the snack table and started to fill their paper plates with food.

* * *

Jack Kelly brought the coffee mug to his lips, closely studying the view before him. He took a small sip and then took a thoughtful bite from his bagel. "I don't get it," he said. "That was the lousiest thing I've ever heard. Even for the old man." He'd been witness to one or two other Pulitzer speeches, and the old man never stuck to the speeches his advisors wrote for him; instead, he always ended up tossing the papers away and droned on and on about how he "built this company with his two bare hands." After taking another slow sip of the brewed caffeine, Jack said with consternation, "And they all look so… happy about it."

"I'd say downright excited," Skittery said with his mouth full.

Race chuckled knowingly. "They have no idea what they're in for."

The three employees stood lounging in the back of the auditorium. They had invited themselves into the event in the conference auditorium when they learned the company was providing free breakfast. They'd only been working at the Pulitzer Publishing Company since the beginning of the year, but this particular trio had already developed radar for sensing free things, especially when the free things was food. Skittery and Race had already stashed several bagels and pastries into their messenger bags. Jack was about to stock up for himself when David Jacobs came power-walking into the auditorium.

"Davey! Ya made it to the buffet," Jack greeted.

"Hey guys, how's it going," David returned. "We have a—oh, hey, glazed donuts." He treated himself to the food on the table. After taking a large bite of his donut, he continued. "We have a meeting upstairs."

"A meeting? Since when?"

"Since now."

"No one told me about a meeting this morning," Jack said, irritated by the lack of notice.

"No one knew. Jonathan just called one."

"Oh, great," Race mumbled, clearly exasperated. "I hope Mr. Pants-too-tight doesn't try to put in that 'Substitute a Thank You with a Hug' rule again."

Skittery snickered at the memory of a frustrated Jonathan when he saw everyone in the office was not only _not_ hugging each other constantly, but ignoring each other completely. Truth was that everyone on their floor had agreed to communicate through instant messaging and emails that day. Just to rattle him.

"We better go. He was already starting to throw a little fit before I left to come find you guys," David said. He glanced at the people crowding the other end of the snack table. "Are those the summer interns?"

"Yeah," Jack said.

"Ah ha!"

"Exactly."


	2. Intern Orientation

_Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies (still). All other characters belong to their respective owners.  
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**Chapter 02. Intern Orientation**

Jonathan took his job very seriously. He was, in title, Assistant to President Pulitzer, but as he believed, he was so much more than that. He was also the Company Event Coordinator, a post he loved very much. Growing up, his dream had been to become a wedding planner; however, when he had the chance to serve the famous Mr. Pulitzer, there was no way Jonathan could turn that opportunity down. And most recently, he was the self-designated Intern Coordinator and couldn't be more excited about his new position. He waited patiently, neatly laying out his handouts and notes on the desk before him. Slowly, the employees trickled into the third floor conference room.

After Pulitzer's speech, it was time to put in motion next phase of the Intern Orientation. Jonathan had scrambled into each office announcing an important, exclusive meeting, and proceeded to call out names that were to "report to duty."

Swifty and Specs, who had been in the kitchen when they overheard the news, rolled their eyes but "reported to duty" anyway, even saluting at the doorway to the conference room. The employees weren't completely dense—not all of them, anyway—and they discerned the fact that all who were called to the meeting were the newest and youngest employees, a hand-selected group of kids fresh out of school. They had all proven themselves as interns or temps and so secured full-time positions with the company. The lot of them had only been working since December or January.

Jonathan, standing rimrod straight as always with an expression that teetered between a smile and a look of fear, waited until everyone was seated before beginning the meeting. David rushed into the room, while Jack, Skittery, and Race ambled in and took their sweet time settling down.

"Some of you may know," Jonathan finally began, "that we are formalizing our intern program in order to compete with other companies offering experience _as well as_ fun, excitement, and other delightful benefits in their programs. Mr. Pulitzer agrees that we must raise the bar in order to persuade the brightest students to _our_ program, and not some less worthy company. In order to meet our goal, we've—and by we, I mean me—taken several weeks to improve our program and I believe we've taken great leaps. Today, for example, President Pulitzer initiated our brilliant interns with a most poignant speech. It was an oratory triumph. I, for one, believe we should follow his fine example and so, we are implementing many new things this summer. I can hardly contain my excitement," he chuckled with glee. "We're trying to make our internship program as enjoyable as possible, and to really help this young generation get the most out of this wonderful opportunity. Who better to help them realize their full potential than the people who were interns themselves only several months ago? Who better to help than the people who know exactly what life as an intern is like?

"I can't believe my ears," Race groaned. Jack himself didn't like where this was going.

"That is correct, my young employees. You are all officially part of our special Summer Intern Program and will all be acting as mentors to our little interns. And in the spirit of mentoring, starting this summer, we're launching our first ever Company Class Lecture Series. Yay…" Jonathan clapped, but seeing as no one else returned his enthusiasm, he abruptly continued on. "The Company Class Lecture Series—or as I like to call it, CCLS—will be a weekly lecture, and each of you will be leading a lecture of your own, teaching our brilliant little interns about our excellent organization and sharing your own stories of success. You'll bond, you'll laugh, you'll cry. It's going to be amazing."

Pie Eater raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Eater?"

Swifty and Race snorted back their laughter.

"Are we getting paid more?" Pie asked.

"No. Any other questions?"

"What does CCLS stand for?"

"It stands for Company Class—oh. _Haha_," Jonathan said, glaring in Racetrack's direction.

Sensing that the meeting had come to an end, the young employees prepared to leave and got up from their seats. Jonathan stopped them in their tracks. "Wait! That's not all!" He waited for the exasperated group to sit back down. "I haven't even talked about what you will all be doing _today_."

"_Today?_"

"Yes, _today_. I am happy to let you know that the bonding with the future generation will commence today. In… 15 minutes to be exact. Your interns happily await you in the conference auditorium.

"Oh, grief," mumbled Pegasus. "I have work to do…"

"You're telling me. I have three manuscripts to edit," Stress whispered back.

"Ladies, if you'll please cease with the gossiping." Jonathan ignored their looks of annoyed disbelief. "Each of you has been assigned a duty, all listed and detailed on this sheet I am passing out. Now, some of you will be split into pairs…"

* * *

"I hate to say it, but I think I'm kind of looking forward to this," David said.

"I hate to say it, but you've lost your marbles, Davey," Race said. "You realize this is a Jonathan-sponsored event we're talkin' about?"

"Yeah, I know, but… I mean, we get to help these new kids out. Y'know, teach them the things we wished we knew when we were interns."

Jack grinned mischievously. "We should teach them where Davey hides his diary."

Davey frowned. "It's a journal. And I don't bring it to work anyway."

Swifty just moaned pitifully. "What are we supposed to be doing? Being tour guides?"

"Yeah," David answered. "You guys have Group B. Jack and I have Group A."

The group of four took the elevator down to the conference auditorium on the second floor where Jonathan said the interns would be waiting. When they opened the doors, they were surprised to see the interns had already gathered by the entrance, clearly organized into two groups—probably Seitz's doing.

There was an awkward beat between the employees and the interns as uncertainty befell the crowd. Jack broke the silence, however, and with his trademark charming grin, he said, "Group A, you ladies and gents are with me and Davey here."

* * *

From the second floor, Jack, David, and Group A went directly to the fourth floor, skipping the third floor which housed mostly conference rooms. On the fourth floor resided the offices of Human Resources as well as Finance and Accounting. Since this was David's natural habitat, as Jack pointed out, he began the tour of the floor.

He led the group into the Finance office. The office was fairly spacious; desks were spaced out in an organized and methodical way. A couple of people were sitting at their computers concentrating on their monitors. Davey directed the group's attention to a pale man who, for some reason, exuded eeriness. "Say hi to Mr. Snyder everyone. Mr. Snyder is the Senior Accountant," David said, lamely waving at the man. The interns mumbled "hi," to which Mr. Snyder looked up in response, stared, and returned to his work without a word.

"So, um, this is where I work: Finance and Accounting. Real exciting stuff happens here. We crunch numbers, balance budgets, handle the revenue and expense reports, make sure none of our projects are going over budget, which happens far too often than anyone here would like, and lots of other stuff that only nerds like me would be interested in, apparently," he added, when Jack feigned an exaggerated yawn. David paused and shrugged, letting his arms fall to his sides. "That's pretty much it here. There aren't many of us, but we're a close-knit bunch… mostly. Anyone here interning in Finance?"

One kid raised his hand slightly.

"Great! What's your name?"

"Bumlets."

"Bumlets. Awesome. Glad to have you on board."

They moved on to Human Resources down the hall. This room was more rectangular than the previous room, with long desks lining the sides and a couple of cubicles at the end of the wide center aisle. At the end of the room was another doorway to a small office, from which emerged the alluring Irish Flare, Assistant to the Head of Human Resources. She didn't see the tour group at first, as she shuffled through the papers in her hands. Irish Flare had a purposeful rhythm in her stride that said much about her - independent, straightforward, focused. She stopped short when she finally peered up and saw the group blocking the way.

"This gorgeous creature is Irish Flare," Jack introduced. "Many of you may have seen or spoke to her already, since she handled all the intern applications and interview scheduling."

"Thank you for the introduction, Jack," she said coolly. "Congratulations on making the cut," she said to the group. "You guys should have a lot of fun with all the events Jonathan has planned for you this summer," she added, winking in David's and Jack's direction. She offered her help if anyone needed and excused herself out of the office.

Snitch, one of the interns, sighed, his glazed eyes trained on Irish Flare's departing figure. His friend and fellow intern, Itey, recognized the sick puppy look and shook his head in incredulity. "Typical," he said.

"What?" Snitch asked, snapping back to reality.

"You always fall for the girls with the _sparkling blue_ eyes and _long, raven_ hair," Itey said, embellishing the descriptions.

Snitch gave him a questioning look. "What are you talkin' about?"

"Uh, let's see… Megan Fox, Zooey Deschanel, Katy Perry… that chick from _Gilmore Girls_."

"Alexis Bledel," Snitch sighed lovingly. "She has brown hair, for your information."

"Whatever."

The tour continued on as David and Jack led their group to the different departments, including Sales, Communications, Editorial, until they came to the "Lab." It was significantly larger than the other rooms the group had seen in the tour so far. Upon entering through the glass doors, the interns stood facing a long open aisle. To their left were two rooms formed from high panel partitions.

"These are the cubices," Jack explained. When one of the interns asked what the heck a cubice was, Jack answered, "A cubicle office. Cubice."

To their right were three long rows of L-shaped six by six work stations separated by low partitions, two rows running along the middle of the room and one set along the wall closest to them. They walked across the main open aisle until they reached the other side of the Lab. From here the interns saw the cubicles lined against the windows were different; they were a bit larger with slightly higher panels.

"The Lab is where all our creative people usually are," David explained. "To our left, you'll see these four L-shaped six by nine cubicles—this is where our Web Producers work. Jack is the Executive Web Producer. Sounds fancy, huh? Anyway, they're kinda off in their own corner, hidden behind the cubice. Now if you'll turn to your right, all these desks are for our talented designers. Except for these six by nines against these windows—this is where the IT department used to be."

"Where are they now?" Snitch asked, concerned. He was an IT intern.

"Well, I wouldn't say it's much of a department now. Long story. Anyway, Skittery's our only IT guy and this is where he works."

"There's only one IT person for this entire company?"

"Yeah, pretty mu—"

"There he is now," Jack interrupted, shushing the group. He just spied Skittery setting up one of the computers at the far end of the Lab. Jack pointed, hunched as though they were observing an animal in the wild. "That's what we call a Skittery. He's a strange, alien-like creature that never seems to be doin' anythin' but playing Solitaire on the computer. And yet, he still manages to get all his shit done. Bastard. Excuse my language."

Skittery had overheard and, his eyes never leaving the computer monitor, flipped a finger in Jack's direction.

"Classy," Jack said, straightening. "Moving on to more interesting - speaking of, here comes an interesting specimen right now, ladies and gentleman," he said in a low voice. He directed the group's attention to an unhappy looking middle-aged man who was obviously trying to snub the group. But Jack caught up with him. "This is Mr. Weasel -"

"Wiesel," the man cut in.

Jack ignored him. "Mr. Weasel's the Floor Manager for the Lab. He oversees all the designers and the web producers here."

"Nice to make your acquaintance," Mr. Wiesel said to the interns with a false smile. With that, Mr. Wiesel hastily made his departure.

"Steer clear of that man," Jack warned the interns. "He ain't pleasant, especially before lunch."

* * *

David was exhausted by the end of the tour. They dropped the Group A interns off back at the conference auditorium and returned to the Lab. They were surprised to see Swifty and Race back in their seats, particularly because they hadn't seen the Group B interns in the auditorium.

"Hey fellas," Jack greeted.

"Hey," they mumbled back, neither bothering to look up from their screens.

"You guys finished the tour?"

"Oh yeah, a while ago," Race answered.

"What've you guys been up to?" Jack questioned, curious.

"World of Warcraft."

"But… where are your interns?" asked David.

"We sent ours on a scavenger hunt as the tour. Y'know, so they can learn on their own. Teach them teamwork and stu - what the hell was that!" Swifty exclaimed, reabsorbed in the game. He jabbed furiously at his keyboard.

David looked at Jack. "Why didn't we think of that?"

"'Cause we ain't got brains."

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_Author's Note:_ Cubicle research is very interesting. The "cubice" is a reference I overheard from work, so I can't quite take credit for that! Shoutouts go out to stress, Corky, Royal shadow1, Adren, Repeat, Acorn, and Eavis - thank you all so much for your feedback! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)_  
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	3. Human Resources

_Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. All other characters belong to their respective creators._

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**Chapter 03. Human Resources**

Polaroid stepped into the office hesitantly, unsure of whether she was in the right room, or even on the right floor. The office was not particularly large—the "Lab" was substantially bigger—but it was spacious enough for the few employees in the department. Long desks were set up on either side of the room. She crept forward, tucking her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her and the quiet of the workplace was unsettling at the moment. She looked around to ask someone for help, and then her heart leapt: ahead and to the left was a girl with brown hair and blond highlights pulled straight back into a ponytail, wearing a pair of thin glasses framing her hazel eyes. It was a familiar face. Polaroid walked towards her desk. "Corky?"

Corky looked up abruptly and a broad grin formed as she jumped to her feet. "Polaroid! What are you doing up here?"

"I'm interning here," she answered, laughing at Corky's animated reaction.

"I didn't know you were in Human Resources, too," she exclaimed excitedly.

"I applied to Human Resources originally," she explained, "but they told me during the interview that they needed someone in Finances. Apparently they didn't have a lot of applicants for that department."

"Wow, you must be so good at math. I can barely add single digits without a calculator."

Polaroid shook her head modestly. "I'm not much of a math wiz, but I think the Intern Coordinator was just desperate. And _I_ was so desperate for an internship that I said okay."

"But you're here! So it must have all worked out."

Polaroid nodded ardently. She hadn't shown it, but she had been incredibly anxious about the prospect of being a Finance intern. She had had her heart set on HR, and she had no idea what she would be doing in Finance. Luckily for her, the Intern Coordinator must have found a willing, more mathematically-oriented person to fill the position. Polaroid had felt the dreadful weight lift from her shoulders when she was notified of the change. If she ever met the Finance intern who took her post, she would have to thank him or her for sure.

"Guess what?" Corky asked.

"What?"

"I think you'll be sharing a cubicle with me," she answered, cocking her head to the empty desk beside her.

Polaroid took a quick look around the small office, noted with relief that there really was no other desk to sit at, and gladly shuffled over to the empty side of the cubicle, setting her bag atop the desk as though claiming it as hers. She started up the computer and listened as the machine whirred to life.

While waiting for the computer to load, Polaroid caught sight of the decorations in Corky's area - they were kind of hard to miss: a _Fairly Odd Parents_ day planner sat by her keyboard and a slew of _Happy Bunny_ stickers shimmered brightly on her monitor. She had a small printer to one side of her desk, which stood base to four penguin "weebles." And littered all over her desk were tiny _Ninjia Turtles_ action figures as well as a retro sign on the partition that pretty much summed up Corky's maxim: "Reality. It's what happens to people who don't play video games." It wasn't too difficult to figure that Corky embraced the simplicities and pure joy of being young.

"I'm really glad we're going to be working together," Polaroid said, almost timidly. "Being the only new kid in the office is always kind of awkward."

"Well, now we can be awkward together," Corky offered cheerfully.

Polaroid glanced back at her computer to see that the screen was prompting her for a username and password. "Do you know what the login is for this computer?" she asked Corky.

Corky looked over, pursing her lips in thought. "Hmm, I'm not sure…" She brightened suddenly. "I'll go ask for you," she said, beaming. She smoothed out her light pink dress shirt and brushed back loose strands of hair from her face. She stood up, squared her shoulders, and walked resolutely out of their partition. She made her way all the way to the end of the office, stopped at a desk and knocked on the side of the high dividing panel. "Hi, Dutchy," she greeted. Corky had a petite build and so had to peer over the cubicle wall to see him.

"Hey, Corkster!"

She loved how he played on everyone's names. "Hi."

"What's up?"

"I, um… we have a new intern, did you know?"

"A new employee and an intern! Did ya hear that, Pie?"

"I heard ya," Pie answered from a few partitions over.

"We won't have to do any work from now on!"

"Ha!"

Dutchy returned his attention to Corky. "Just kidding," he assured. "What's our new intern's name?"

"Polaroid," Corky supplied.

"Polaroid… Polaroid… that's gonna be a tough one, but I'll have a nickname for her nickname by lunchtime."

Corky giggled despite herself. "Well, um… her computer needs to be set up, I think. She doesn't know what the username and password is."

Dutchy shook his head. "That Skittery's slackin' off. He's the IT guy. Let me try get him for ya," he said, and began typing on his computer. Dutchy was obviously reaching him by IM.

After about half a minute of typing back and forth, Dutchy burst out laughing. "Stupid prick," he muttered lightly. He sent Corky an apologetic look. "He doesn't believe me. He swears he set up all the computers and accounts for the interns. I told him he obviously made a mistake and missed one, and he just said he never misses anything."

"Prick!" Pie shouted.

"That's what I said!" Dutchy responded laughingly. He lowered his voice so only Corky could hear. "It doesn't help that we usually pull a prank on him every time he comes up to this office."

Corky chuckled at the thought. She glanced back at Polaroid. "But what can we do then, about Polaroid's computer?"

Dutchy shrugged helplessly. "She'll have to go fetch him. He seriously thinks I'm trying to lure him up here to pull one on him. But it's way too early to do that. She knows where the Lab is?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll go let her know. Thanks, Dutchy."

"Anytime, Sporky Corky."

Corky let out another delighted laugh as she returned to her desk.

* * *

Once again, she hoped she wouldn't get lost. Corky had told her she needed to find Skittery, "the IT guy," in the Lab. Polaroid remembered passing by the Lab during the scavenger hunt at Orientation, but only had an inkling of where it was. She waited for the elevator and stepped in when the doors finally opened with the _ring!_ After a moment of deliberating, she went with her gut and took a guess as to what floor the Lab was on. The elevator began its ascent.

It stopped short, however, on the next floor above. And in walked another familiar face.

"Polaroid!" Adren cried happily. She bounded forward and wrapped the tall girl in a hug.

"Hi!" Polaroid managed to say, a bit stunned by the ecstatic greeting. "How are you doing?"

"Really well so far," Adren replied happily. "I just met the Executive Editor and the Editor I'll be assisting this summer. They are both amazing and so nice and I can't believe I'm going to be working with them and… oh, I can't form coherent thoughts right now I'm so excited."

Polaroid couldn't help but grin as Adren's enthusiasm was infectious.

"You should meet them. I think you'd love them, too. Kloppman - he's the Executive Editor - he's been working here since pretty much the company began. Oh! And he told me the reason for the nicknames in the office! It's a cute story, I'll have to tell you during lunch sometime. And Stress is the Editor. She's been here for a couple of months. She was telling me some of the books she's worked on, and she's just incredible. I am in complete awe of the two of them." She took a moment to catch her breath. "I'm sorry, I'm just blabbing on. How's your first day going?"

"Pretty good!" Polaroid answered. "I'm interning in Human Resources, thank goodness."

"So you're not in Finance anymore? That's great!"

"Yep, and I'm working with Corky."

"Oh yeah! See, it all worked itself out. I think this is a good sign."

The elevator reached Polaroid's floor. She smiled triumphantly when the doors opened, revealing a room lined with cubicles. It was the Lab. She had guessed correctly. "This is where I get off," she told Adren.

"Oh, okay. I'll see you around! Let's have lunch together."

"Definitely." She waved farewell as the elevator closed and continued its smooth upward trek.

She turned around and faced the room. She found the Lab, and now she had to find Skittery. As was the situation in the Human Resources office, here too, no one budged from their computer monitors, seemingly hard at work. Polaroid walked straight through the wide center aisle, looking over all the desks, until she was at the other side of the room. From here, she had no idea where to look first. She decided to ask. Polaroid turned to the corner cubicle to her left, behind which, thankfully, sat an approachable looking girl. Despite it being summer, this girl wore a thick ivory-colored scarf, the light shade offsetting her wavy black hair with pinned-back bangs. Her dark brown eyes were, like everyone else, focused on her computer. She was mouthing something, and Polaroid realized the girl was singing along to music when she spied the earphone cord tracing to the mp3 player on her desk. She wondered if this girl was an intern, too.

"Excuse me," Polaroid said softly.

The girl must have sensed Polaroid's presence, for she quickly gazed up and removed the earphones she had on. "Hi," she said brightly.

"I was wondering if you knew where I could find Skittery?"

She smiled. "Sure do. You're very close—see the cubicle right there?" She pointed across to the partition to Polaroid's right. "That's his lair. He's probably hiding under those huge headphones of his."

"Thanks!"

"No problem."

Polaroid took the five or so steps to the other corner cubicle and, as the girl had said, found Skittery sitting there with immense headphones on. She could hear the drums and rock guitar chords emanating from his headset. "Excuse me," she said, hoping he'd hear her.

His eyes flitted to her face and he straightened from his slouched position, pushing back his headphones from his ears. "Hi, what's up?"

"I'm an intern, and I was told to come ask if you could help me with the computer…"

A defeated look fell over his face. "Are you from HR?" he asked, grimacing slightly as an image of a gleeful, gloating Dutchy fleeted through his head.

"Yes."

"Dammit."

"Sorry."

"No, no, not you," he ensured. "Let's go check it out." He pushed himself up from his chair and the two made their way out of the Lab and to the elevators. "Sorry for making you come all the way up here. What's your name?"

"Polaroid," she answered.

"Polaroid - I thought you were in Finance," he said, recalling the list he received from Jonathan from the Intern Orientation meeting. While Jack, David, Race, and Swifty were assigned as tour guides, Skittery had been appointed with the job of setting up all the new computer accounts in all the departments. She explained how she had been switched out from Finance to HR at the last minute.

"_Oh_." Skittery nodded in understanding, reassured from the fact that he technically _hadn't_ missed anything. But he was sure Dutchy didn't care for such details.

Polaroid showed him to her computer when they reached the HR office. He sat down and began to work, typing quickly.

"You're losing your touch, Skitts," Dutchy said in a singsong way, strolling past their desk. Skittery shot him a look of annoyance as he continued the set up process.

Polaroid was waiting patiently by Corky's desk when a rapid clicking of heels drew her attention. Irish Flare entered the room. The Assistant noticed Polaroid and immediately approached her. "Hi, you're Polaroid, right?"

"Yes," Polaroid replied. Even though Polaroid could tell she had a couple of inches over Irish Flare, there was a candid confidence about the HR Assistant that she found slightly intimidating.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Irish Flare—you can call me Irish. I just got the memo that you've been transferred here from Finance," she said. "It's great to have you. We'll have a lot of projects you can help us with."

"Thank you," Polaroid said politely. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Fantastic. If you have any questions, just let me know. Pie and Dutchy are good resources, too." She paused. "When they want to be."

Skittery let out a short chortle at that. Irish's focus snapped towards his direction; she hadn't realized he was sitting there. "Hey," she greeted.

"Hey, IF," he said, meeting her eyes briefly before returning to his work.

"Setting up our intern's account?"

"Yeah."

"Great. You'll be all settled in no time," she said, addressing the latter to Polaroid. "Skittery's one of the best IT guys around."

"He's the only IT guy around," Dutchy called out matter-of-factly, strolling past their desk again to get back to his own.

Polaroid looked at Skittery curiously, wondering how one person could possibly handle all the technological demands of a company… and wondering why anyone would have thought that was even a good idea in the first place.

Having finished establishing Polaroid's new account, Skittery restarted the computer. He rattled off some information and directions - her temporary login, how to change it, to let him know immediately if the computer acted up, how to reach him discreetly without attracting the attention of Dutchy and Pie Eater, his email, extension line, and a second extension line - and finally asked if she had any questions. So she asked why he was the only one working in IT.

Skittery sighed. "It's a long story," he said ruefully.

* * *

_Author's Note: _First days at work sure are fun, aren't they? ;)

I can't say enough how much I appreciate everyone's feedback. Thank you's go out to Corky, Irish Flare, Song For A Rainy Day, Acorn, Stress, Adren, Repeat, and Eavis! I loved reading through all your comments. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_  
_


	4. The Assistant's Assistant

_Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. All other characters belong to their respective creators._

* * *

**Chapter 04. The Assistant's Assistant**

She was going to die.

She just knew it. One of these days, the drivers inside their fancy cars, honking their horns irately at her were going to flip and just run her over. She apologized profusely as she crossed the streets and snaked in between cars, paying little respect to the "Don't Walk" signals. Of course, no one paid any attention her apologies. All they saw was some crazy girl jumping out in front of cars when they had the right of way. No one saw, or cared really, that she was carrying bags upon bags and balancing four coffee trays in her arms. If anything, they added to her overall look of crazy.

_Ah, New York City._

For the most part, Acorn loved it. She loved it, mostly because she finally had a job. For months, she had been agonizing over every little detail of her resume and what seemed like hundreds of cover letters. There were so many jobs she never heard back from, despite her impeccable record and qualifications, that she almost gave up. But she persevered. After countless applications and interviews, she had finally been offered a job as the Assistant to the Assistant to Mr. Joseph Pulitzer of the Pulitzer Publishing Company.

It was a tedious title, but she was grateful. She really was. Despite the life-or-death traffic-jumping her job required, and the cursing she endured every morning, and the general lack of appreciation for her efforts, she was grateful. She was working at a highly regarded company, on the same floor that the famous Mr. Pulitzer frequented for his meetings. The only downside was her immediate boss.

He was…

To put it lightly, he creeped her out.

Acorn scurried into the Pulitzer building as the automatic doors were about to slide shut. She tried to walk as fast as she could in her shoes heels. She had no mobility to check the time on her watch but she couldn't shake the sinking feeling that she was late. Ahead, Acorn saw the elevator doors opening. Perfect timing, if she could just make it.

"Wait! Hold the doors, please!" she shouted, but her voice was muffled by the rumbling of paper bags at her sides and the sloshing of iced coffees. She prayed someone heard.

Jack Kelly heard. His hand shot out between the sliding doors at the last moment and held them open. A girl—he assumed it was a girl from the hurried clicking of heels—struggled inside. He couldn't see her head as she was hidden behind the precariously stacked trays of Starbucks coffees in her arms. The aroma of roasted beans filled the elevator. At both her elbows were two brown bags threatening to split at the seams. One was filled with what Jack recognized as Dunkin' Donuts boxes, and the other, Krispy Kremes. She stuck a finger out, trying, futilely, to press the floor button.

"I'll get it," Jack offered and punched in the button with his knuckle. He recognized the floor housing Pulitzer's elaborate conference room. He looked over at the towering mountain of coffees. "Ya need help with that?" Jack asked.

"Hmm? Oh, no. I'm fine, thank you very much," came the muffled answer.

_Yeah, right_, Jack thought. He reached up and unloaded three stacks of coffee from the girl anyway. He adjusted his grip on them—they were startlingly weighty. He could see her face now and realized that he'd never seen the girl before, which was surprising considering he thought he knew everyone in the building. She had long, straight blonde hair and focused green eyes, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. He was studying her, trying to determine whether she was a new intern, and she was staring at him, wondering how one could have such perfect facial planes. He had such deep brown eyes…

She almost dropped her coffee tray. Acorn shook herself out of her reverie and collected her thoughts. Looking at him apologetically, she said, "You really didn't have to do that." The gratefulness was written in her face, however.

"No problem," he said, shooting her an amiable grin. "So, uh… is Pulitzer havin' a party?"

"Ha, yes. I mean, no - he has his weekly board meeting this morning."

"Huh. And he can't make up his mind which donuts he likes best?" he asked, indicating the bags hanging at her sides.

She sighed. "He's very particular."

"No kidding."

"It's not really him, you see. I don't think Mr. Pulitzer cares for donuts—or anything sweet, really—in the first place. It's my boss," she explained. "Mr. Pulitzer's Assistant."

"So, you're the Assistant's Assista—" The smile vanished from Jack's face as he processed his thought. When he finished thinking, a laugh of astonishment escaped from his throat before he could stop himself. "You're _Jonathan's_ Assistant?" He tried to stifle his laughter with little success. He couldn't wait to tell the guys about it—_Jonathan had an Assistant_. When he saw the serious look on her face and realized being Jonathan's Assistant was no laughing matter, he quickly broke off. He cleared his throat. "That's… tough."

"Tell me about it," she mumbled.

The doors slid open. Like a gentleman, he let her exit first, offering to help carry the trays to the conference room. She gratefully accepted and led the way to the room.

Upon entering through the paneled double doors, Acorn glanced at the clock ticking on the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. She had five minutes to spare. She quickly set up the boxes of pastries and coffees on the side table, taking the trays Jack had carried for her. "Thank you for this," she said. "I really appreciate it."

"Why, Good Morning, Mr. Kelly!"

Jack stiffened, mouthing something close to an expletive. He rolled his eyes before turning and facing Jonathan, who had just entered the room. "Jonathan," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

"I hope you are bonding with our little interns," Jonathan said optimistically.

"Sure am look at the time I'm late for a meeting," he said quickly. He addressed Acorn. "It was nice meeting you." He lowered his voice so the Assistant wouldn't hear. "Good luck," he said, grinning and shifting his head slightly in Jonathan's direction. Then Jack, seeing that Jonathan was about to make conversation again, made his exit by practically running out of the room.

She suppressed a chuckle, looking after the door through which Jack made his escape.

"_Tick tock_, Miss Acorn," came Jonathan's voice, jolting her from her thoughts. "Mr. Pulitzer will be in _any_ minute."

She hastily returned to organizing the donuts on the table, sneaking a resentful look towards Jonathan's back, who was carefully—lovingly?—dusting off the large oak and leather seat that belonged to Mr. Pulitzer. She shook her head resignedly.

_He's _so_ weird_.

* * *

"Did ya know Jonathan has an Assistant?"

"_Haha!_ Good one."

"I ain't kidding. Met her in the elevator."

Specs' brows snapped together, as he couldn't understand why anyone would want to work for Jonathan. He shrugged and let out a low whistle. "Well, she must be crazy or damn gutsy."

"And here I thought Jonathan liked to do everything himself," David said.

"Seems like Mr. Uptight's gettin' a little spoiled."

"Just what we need. A spoiled Jonathan," Specs muttered.

It was half past noon and Jack was rounding up the gang to get lunch. He grabbed David and Specs from Finance first, checked into HR for Pie and Dutchy, and the five made their way up on the elevator to gather the rest of the employees. They split up: Jack went to get Swifty and Race, who was napping; Specs, Dutchy, and Pie went to unglue Skittery from his game of Mahjong, and David continued up to the Editorial floor to catch Snoddy and Kloppman.

The "Big Boys" lunch outing was something the group did at least once a week. It had begun when they were all interns, when Kloppman, the company's longtime Executive Editor, took them under his wing and treated them out to lunch one day. It somehow became a tradition with this exclusive club, that at the end of each week they gathered the usual group and headed to the local diner. Perhaps it was their way of celebrating another five days survived at the Pulitzer Publishing Company.

"Race," Jack called, nodding his head.

Race opened one lid in response and quickly interpreted the subtle signal. "Lunch," he said, rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation.

Jack then turned to Swifty, who was utterly absorbed in a conversation he was having on his cell phone. No doubt with his girlfriend. Again. Unfortunate timing for Jack, considering whenever Swifty talked to his girlfriend, the call lasted for hours. Jack knew he had to wrestle Swifty's attention towards him and get him off the phone somehow.

"Hey, Swifts." Swifty held up a hand, asking Jack to wait a moment as he continued listening to his girlfriend yammering on the phone. "Did ya know Jonathan has an Assistant?" Jack asked, blatantly ignoring the signal.

Swifty looked like he stopped breathing. Eyes wide, he turned his attention to Jack. "_What_?"

Jack continued breezily, deliberately baiting him. "Yeah, met her in the elevator."

"It's a gir—is she crazy?" A sharp yell blared from his cell phone. "No, not you. I didn't say you were crazy. No, Jack was just telling me about this girl—no, what! Of course, I'm not seeing anyone else! Jack was just - he's - the guys are going out for lunch and he's—god, of course they're not more important than you."

Jack faked offense at Swifty's statement. When Swifty continued to soothe his girlfriend and ignored him, Jack sighed and turned to Pegasus, sitting in the next cubicle. "How the hell do you deal with this every day?"

Peg simply pointed at her earphones.

"Smart."

"Look, no, I'm not exasperated, sweetie. I—I—I have to go… I'm not trying to avoid you. You know I…" Swifty eyed Jack cautiously before returning to his girlfriend. "You know I love you," he mumbled lowly so that his friend wouldn't hear.

"Hurry it up, pal," Jack said bluntly. "Kloppman's waiting."

"I really have to go, Stacy. I'll call you after lunch. Okay. Love you, bye." Swifty shut his cell phone with a snap and stared at Jack with astonished eyes. "What were you saying about a chick and Jonathan having a crazy Assistant?"

* * *

Stepping off the elevator, David walked down the lushly carpeted hall and pushed past the heavy paneled doors to the Editorial Floor. The richly decorative entries, newly renovated, always reminded him of some medieval castle doors; he proposed a theory once, that the doors—so ubiquitous in literature as symbolic images—were deliberately implemented by Pulitzer to subconsciously motivate the Editors to dig deeper into their worlds of lore to search out the next worthy literary sensation. The guys called him a nerd when he shared his idea. But David didn't doubt Pulitzer's capability to make such grand implications with seemingly subtle decisions as designing a simple door. Despite the old man's oddities, he was fairly creative. He didn't get into the publishing business just for the sake of it, after all.

David had found one enthusiast for his theory, at least. Actually, the two had become fast friends over that very "door" theory. He drew near her desk now and just saw the top of her hair from the high walls of her workspace. Two pens precisely held the high chignon of blond curls in place. He rested his arms on the edge of the wall and looked down at her desk. With a dramatically red pen, she was scribbling notes on the margins of a manuscript. Sitting at the corner of her desk were three large mugs filled with various colored and tipped pens and highlighters; David guessed that was the collection she'd been accumulating from her co-workers through the months. He thought he could recognize two or three from her collection as his own. She was extremely diligent and fairly organized in her work—one could tell from the systemized way she arranged her post-it notes—but she had a strange absentminded tendency when it came to those pens; she was a "serious pen hog," as she remorsefully admitted once.

"Hey, Stress."

Stress practically jumped out of her seat. When she saw David standing above her, she let out the breath that had caught in her throat. "David, hey. You scared me."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it. I just thought you were Snoddy."

"I'm looking for him actually." David searched across the floor towards Snoddy's desk. Empty. "You know where he is?"

Stress shrugged, her cat-like green eyes suggesting that she really didn't want to know where Snoddy, a fellow Editor, was.

David flinched a little. "He giving you a hard time?"

She sighed. "He's worse than usual."

As though they had timed it, Snoddy strode into the room at that very moment. Right on his heels was Jake, one of the new Editorial interns, taking down every word Snoddy uttered into his notepad.

Snoddy spotted David first. "Hey, Davey!" he greeted heartily. "How you doin'? Have you met Jake yet? He's my Assistant for the summer," he introduced.

"Hey, Jake," David said.

"Jake's actually in the same fraternity that I was in back in College," Snoddy said. He wrapped his arm around Jake's shoulder good-naturedly. "We're brothers," he said smugly.

"That's great. I bet you guys, uh… have a lot in common."

Stress sunk lower into her chair, as though bracing herself.

"Do we ever!" Snoddy exclaimed enthusiastically. "We were just talking about all the frat rites we had to go through. There were some _crazy_ nights. One time we had like ten kegs of—well, I guess I shouldn't say too much since you're not Pi Kappa Alpha, you know. We've got to keep our secrets secret! Our brotherhood is awesome, though, isn't it?

"Sure is," Jake agreed with gusto.

"It just brings back so many memories," Snoddy said fondly. "Did you know we won fraternity of the year every year I was there? We were the best."

David saw Stress suffering and he could now see why. Snoddy was incredibly proud of his fraternity days and tended to go on longwinded, one-sided discussions about "how awesome Pi Kappa Alpha" was. Now with Jake in the office, he probably spoke of nothing else. David needed to change the subject and fast. "Hey, speaking of…" David blanked on a coherent segue. "So the guys are getting lunch," he said directly instead. "I just came to get you and Kloppman."

"That's awesome! Hey, we should bring Jake along. The kid's like my protégé, you know? Gotta teach him everything I know, since we're both Pi Kappa Alpha and all. And let's face it, I know a lot."

David conceded agreeably. "Yeah, sure, I mean, I'm sure the guys won't mind."

"Awesome. That's totally awesome. We'll go get Kloppman and meet you downstairs."

"That sounds great," David said as the two strode away, their steps perfectly in synch. He glanced down at Stress.

She caught the pity in his eyes and asked hopefully, "Want to switch offices for a day and see how long he can talk about Pi-whatever without taking a single breath?"

"Ha! No, thanks. I already know."

Stress sighed, disheartened. "I just don't see how he hasn't run out of frat stories yet. I think I'm going to have to move my desk."

David suddenly let out a surprised yelp as his phone had started to vibrate in his back pocket. "I need to switch that off," he reminded himself. He checked the caller ID. "Hey, Jack," he answered.

Stress' ears perked up at the name.

"Yep, I'm on my way. Snoddy's picking him up. Okay. See you in a few." David ended the call and addressed Stress, who was gazing at David's phone with an odd, faraway look on her face. "Uh, well, I have to go. The boys are all getting lunch at the diner 'round the corner."

"Tibby's? I love that place. You should try their Santa Fe wrap combo," she recommended. "It's my favorite."

"That's funny," David said softly with a chuckle.

Stress narrowed her eyes at him curiously. "What is?"

"That's Jack's favorite, too."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ This chapter, particularly the relationship between the Assistant and the Assistant's Assistant, was partially inspired by Acorn's review.

Shoutouts going out to: Polaroid [you were the star!], Corky [haha, tackling Dutchy], Adren [middle school sounding reviews are fun reads :) ], Repeat [I'm glad you're liking Skittery as a character!], Song For A Rainy Day [I cracked up when I read "Hot-Nerd city." Definitely my type, too ;) ], and Stress [I do like to mess with Skittery… I'm biased, as you know!]


	5. Tales of the Supply Room

_Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. All other characters belong to their respective creators._

* * *

**Chapter 05. Tales of the Supply Room**

Skittery pushed through the glass doors with his shoulder. The change in atmosphere upon crossing over the threshold was immediate with its familiar hum of machines. There were a few early bird designers to his right, hard at work, composing book design drafts, assisting with Marketing and PR materials, and editing other surely tedious tasks. He crossed to the other side and glanced to his left—three out of four of the workstations belonging to the Web Team were empty. He knew where the owners of the three empty desks were—Jack, Race, and Swifty were still stuck downstairs, each thinking up schemes to pocket the prepared refreshments and food from the conference taking place later today; Skittery himself had arrived early before the conference attendees and had already taken his picks.

The only person actually working in Web was Pegasus who, as usual, was donning a wool cable scarf and gloves despite the summer season. To an office foreigner, she would undoubtedly appear ridiculous. To the seasoned office veterans, however, she looked pitiful, for Peg had the misfortune of sitting directly under a busted ceiling vent; a few shutters had to be missing up there. With the temperatures outside rising each day, the force of the air conditioning followed suit and the current blasted down on Peg's desk.

"Morning," he said with a slight wave.

"Mmm-mm," came her singsong answer, muffled by the scarf covering the lower half of her face.

He went round to his desk but stopped short, taking another curious glance at the girl - clearly, survival, not appearances, was first on her agenda. With the scarf wrapped thickly around her shoulders, neck and face, and her bangs covering her forehead, the only features he could discern were her eyes, which themselves were behind a pair of thick, square-framed glasses. He backtracked to her desk and leaned his elbows on the cubicle. "What was it this time?" he asked dryly.

"Mmm—?" She removed the scarf from her face to clarify. "—what?"

He indicated the glasses. "You only wear those when you haven't slept."

She sighed regretfully. Her eyes tended to puff and redden when she got less than three hours of sleep and, not wanting to frighten her co-workers with her zombie impression, she attempted to conceal them behind bulky and unfortunately rather geeky glasses. "There was a _Dirty Jobs_ marathon last night," she confessed finally.

"You're in love with Mike Rowe, huh?" he said, referring to the host of the television show.

"He's such a dreamboat!" Peg exclaimed ecstatically with a beaming smile and clasped hands. The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared as she pulled back on the enthusiasm, embarrassed by her outburst. "I mean, he's… he's all right," she tried to remedy awkwardly. "If you like that sort of… tall, and handsome and rugged type."

He snickered. "Dork."

She responded with a childlike frown. "This coming from the person who watches _The Elegant Universe_ during his lunch breaks." She said pointedly with a complacent look, "Nerd."

"You're both nerdy dorks, now can you please keep it down?" Swifty requested, poking his head above the partition separating his and Peg's workstations. Both Skittery and Pegasus quirked their brows high in surprise; neither had noticed his arrival. "Stacy can barely hear herself think."

Skittery looked like he was fighting to hold back a rude retort, ultimately exhaling in annoyance. Upon hearing "Stacy," Peg's eyes widened in alarm and she hurriedly went searching for her earphones, rummaging through all her desk drawers. At Peg's obvious state of dread, Swifty asked, "What's up with you?"

"Mm-mm mm-mmmb." The scarf was back over her face.

"What?"

She pulled the scarf down. "You know what's up," she repeated.

"No, what?" His attention was pulled back to his girlfriend. "No way, Stacy! I wasn't flirting with a girl. No, it's just Peg. Peg. She's… she's not _really_ a girl…"

Pegasus sent him a bewildered stare. And then it started. Before Peg could effectively block her ears with her earphones and music, Swifty began his awful habit of cooing loving words into his cell phone. Peg scrunched her nose in painful distaste while Skittery looked like he wanted to snatch Swifty's cell phone, snap it shut, and smack him upside the head with it. Race appeared then, turning the corner with an armful of breakfast pastries. He stopped in his tracks as Swifty's cooing reached his ears. Race, too, glowered in his direction as he took his seat.

"Hey," Skittery said, calling for Peg's attention as she was about to plug in her earphones, "do you still have some blank CDs left?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, the ones I gave you last week were the last of them."

"I'll have to find them the hard way, then. Thanks for those, by the way." He exhaled glumly. Skittery had just remembered that he needed to create hard backups for his drives today. With Peg out of supplies, however, it meant that he himself would have to go down to the company supply room.

And no one liked going down to the supply room. It was located below the basement and it was the source of many office horror stories. They were all silly tales, of course, but once one stepped into the supply room, it was difficult to avoid thinking about the disturbing accounts that had been passed down to them. The supply room apparently looked the part of a horror set: shelves upon shelves of all sorts of supplies rendered the place into a maze, a fine layer of dust covered all materials, and broken light switches made it nearly impossible to see. And, naturally, there was no cell phone signal down in the supply room.

The only reason Peg had so many office supplies stocked in her desk was because she had, literally, drawn the shortest straw of the bunch: when the Weasel's toner ran out, he announced the implementation of a monthly Supply Monitor system. Clearly, he didn't want to go down himself, and so made everyone in the Lab draw straws. Peg had drawn the shortest. Reckoning it was possible to acquire a month's worth of provisions in one trip, she didn't let the ominous task faze her - well, actually, she did let it faze her. It took a rousing pep talk from Jack to get her to pull herself together and by the end of it, she was shuffling like a boxer and Jack was kneading her shoulders like her trainer. The pep talk provoked cheers from the Lab. She drew five tote bags across her shoulders like a warrior donning his armor and charged downstairs.

She had surfaced almost an hour later, pale and drained, but victorious, with five full tote bags bursting at the seams and more supplies in her arms, blank CDs and all. "Never again," were the only words she had uttered for the rest of the day.

Skittery was not looking forward to the trip downstairs.

"Hi, everyone," greeted Itey, who had just entered the Lab. "Hi, Skittery."

"Morning," Skittery said. A thought occurred to him, and it brought a slow smile to his lips. "Itey," he called as the intern took a seat at his computer. "I have a job for ya."

* * *

She couldn't believe she was out already.

Exhaling in frustration, Stress opened each of her desk drawers in search of more post-it notes. She wasn't quite sure she could function without her post-its, but there was no time for her to go down to the supply room to get more—she had meetings scheduled all day long. Not that she wanted to go down there anyway, after the dreadful tales she heard from Pegasus. Forlornly, she closed the bottom drawer, which rolled and clanged loudly to a stop.

"Oh man, you guys _still_ do that? I remember Hell Week like it was yesterday. It was pretty awesome."

_Snoddy_, Stress recognized in panic. She tried her best to become invisible, slouching down in her seat and lowering her head to the point her nose nearly collided with the desk.

"Hey, Stress! You sleeping on the job?" Snoddy said, laughing. She heard a sharp clap—undoubtedly the sound of Snoddy and Jake exchanging high fives, celebrating Snoddy's very clever remark. "We got a meeting in five!" he reminded before heading to the meeting room himself.

Stress' head snapped up. Five minutes? She looked at the clock on the wall to confirm the time. Then she became a blur of movement as she readied herself for the meeting. Stress was frantically reaching for her notepad and searching for her red pen when Adren entered the office.

"Good morning," she said. "Anything I can help with today?"

Stress jumped from her seat. "Yes, please!" Adren jumped back in surprise. "Sorry about that," Stress said. "Have you seen my red pen?"

"Your red pen…?" Adren was about to shake her head, but then, squinting, she said, "is it the one behind your ear?"

Stress felt behind her ear and triumphantly retrieved the pen. "Thanks. I always forget to look there." She took a deep breath to relax herself before getting back to the immediate subject. "I need you to take on a huge task today. Do you think you're up for it?"

Adren grinned excitedly. "Sure!" She had been waiting for this moment. Adren couldn't wait to take on more responsibilities and learn more about being an Editor.

"I need you to pick up some post-it notes," Stress said. She paused before slowly adding, "from the supply room."

Adren's hopes deflated. "Oh," she uttered, but she re-gathered her enthusiasm. "Will do!"

Stress bit her lip. Honestly, if she had a choice she would have preferred sending Jake downstairs. But seeing as Snoddy clung to his precious intern, it seemed Adren had to suffer the supply room trip. But perhaps it was better this way, Stress reasoned. After all, the only reason people found the supply room so frightening was because of the stories surrounding it. Since Adren was new and had yet to accumulate the background knowledge, maybe the supply room would not be so daunting. Stress opened her top drawer and after a bit of shuffling, pulled out a flashlight. She handed it to Adren, who received it uncertainly. "You'll need this. Use it well," said Stress. She proceeded to give the intern specific directions to the basement. Adren nodded her understanding, gripped the flashlight tightly in her hands, and made for the supply room.

Stress clutched the notepad to her chest nervously. "Good luck," she whispered.

* * *

Adren had to admit she was a tad disappointed that the huge task turned out to be a post-it retrieval assignment, but she reminded herself that the day had just begun. It was still early in the internship and she knew challenges awaited her. Until then, she figured she could utilize the free time to get to know how the company was organized by exploring. She walked through the long corridor of the brightly lit basement. She passed by a room with glass windows, revealing several couches and two vending machines. Two guys were playing ping pong at the far end of the room. From the looks of it, Adren determined that the room had to be an employee lounge. She recognized the two ping pong players—Jack and David, the tour hosts at the orientation. She grinned faintly, wondering how the two were taking a break from work already when it wasn't even close to lunchtime.

Adren's fingers tightened around the flashlight Stress had handed her. She wondered why she needed a flashlight anyway, and why Stress had been so cryptic and nervous about the supply room.

"This must be the place." Adren drew near an unlabeled and unassuming door, grasped the handle and pulled. It was stubborn. She tried again. No go - the door refused to budge. After another forceful heave, it opened reluctantly with a low groan. She poked her head inside.

Darkness.

She couldn't make out a single outline or shadow. She strained her eyes to see but to no avail. Taking a timid step inside, she felt the walls, her hands fumbling for a light switch. _Strange_, she thought after several long minutes of feeling the walls: there was no switch to be found. Adren took another step. Her foot found only air.

She fell forward with a stunned cry, her feet trying desperately to catch balance, her arms outstretched, hands reaching for stability. Her knees hit the floor first, followed by her hands, then her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Her body was at an awkward angle, her legs raised higher than the rest of her, and it was only then that she realized she was on a staircase. Wincing, Adren lifted herself to a seated position and rubbed at her knees. She caught her breath while striving to see in the darkness. Sometime during the few seconds it took for Adren to fall, the door above had closed behind her and the flashlight had flown out of her hands, leaving her surrounded by pitch black. Panic threatened to surge within her as a strange chill sent shivers down her spine. _It's just the air conditioning_, Adren reasoned.

She was resolute about finding those post-its and fought the panic down with a hard swallow. There _had_ to be a light switch somewhere. What kind of supply room wasn't supplied with lights? So she gradually got to her feet and, carefully this time, descended the rest of the stairs until she felt level ground. She kept searching along the walls with her hands, desperate to be rid of the darkness. Her foot struck something on the floor with a _clink_ and, getting down on her hands, Adren felt around until her fingers curled around a cylindrical object.

It was the flashlight. Relieved, she clicked it on. It took a moment for her to discern her surroundings and when she did, Adren's jaw dropped. After a few gradual swings of the flashlight, she came to the conclusion that she was completely lost. The room—though it seemed more like a warehouse or an arena—was so immense that her measly flashlight couldn't even illuminate the other end of it. Rows of high shelves filled the entire space. How was she supposed to find these itty post-its in this enormous room? Adren thought it would take her at least two weeks to search the entire place, one end to the other, floor to ceiling. She recalled Stress' words about this trip being a huge task; now, upon witnessing the supply room, Adren understood her meaning. She gave up on finding a light switch and commenced the hunt for post-its.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but the long search was beginning to take a toll on her eyes as everything was blurring together. Adren slowed down her pace. Soon, though, she came to a complete stop when she caught sight of a disheveled and lumpy canvas on the floor ahead. _Something must have fallen from the upper shelves_, Adren thought. She was about to pass the mess when she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Frozen still, Adren dared another glimpse at the canvas.

The entire sheet undulated. Adren's breath caught in her throat and she took several steps backwards until she felt the opposite shelf behind her. The hand holding onto the flashlight shook violently. She spotted something on the floor then. It was… Adren squinted.

It was an arm.

Terrified, she let out a high-pitched scream and dashed furiously away from the canvas. The panic she had fought so hard to keep at bay was now pulsing through her blood, clouding all logical thought.

"_Hey. Hey!_"

Adren barely heard the voice shouting after her. She just ran.

* * *

"Did you hear something?" David asked Jack. The two were finally returning to work after their round of ping pong. They were waiting for the elevator when, insistently claiming that he heard an odd sound, David began to edge towards the end of the corridor.

Jack's brows snapped together in puzzlement. "Don't hear anything."

"It sounded like it was coming from the supply room."

Jack waved it off. "Weasel didn't choose a Supply Monitor this month. And no one's stupid enough to go down there voluntarily."

* * *

Adren continued screaming and running. She didn't know where she was going and she didn't care as long as it was away from the ghostly, man-eating canvas.

"Hey! Wait up!"

She heard the voice this time and slowed down several beats to bravely venture a glance back. Something, she couldn't exactly make out what in her flustered state, was coming after her and fast. "Don't come near me!" she yelled.

But the thing, whatever it was, caught up to her, its claws clamping around her arm. Adren shrieked. Whirling around, she wound her flashlight arm back and delivered a hard blow on the creature's head.

"_Ow!_" the creature, or ghost, or thing, bellowed in pain.

"Let go of me!"

"Then stop running!"

Adren stopped squirming immediately. This thing didn't sound threatening or frightening at all. She directed her flashlight towards its face. He turned away from the bright light.

Adren gasped. "Oh! Hey, I know you!" she said brightly.

"Couldn't you figure that out before the crazy _Scooby_ chase?" the boy muttered. He was rubbing at his head where Adren had struck him.

She grimaced apologetically. "Sorry about that. Does it hurt a lot?"

"It's nothing," he said, though he kept flinching as he felt his head. "What're you doing down here anyway?"

Her shoulders dropped. "Looking for post-its. You?"

"CDs. Where'd you get the flashlight?"

"The Editor I'm assisting gave it to me. She said I'd need it."

"Nice of her. I wish Skittery would have done the same," he said.

"Skittery? The IT Guy?"

"You know him?"

"I think everyone knows 'Skittery, the IT Guy.' Are you an IT intern?"

"Yeah," he answered. "Name's Itey."

"Adren," she introduced, sticking out her arm. They shook hands and agreed to search the supply room together. "What were you doing back there anyway?" Adren asked as she scoured the shelves for post-its.

"Nothing," Itey said quickly.

"What do you mean 'nothing'? You were flattened under a canvas."

"I was… I wasn't hiding, if that's what you're thinking," Itey said.

She managed to stop herself from laughing. Knowingly, she said, "So you _were_ hiding, huh?"

"No." Then, quietly, he added, "Just thought I heard something."

"I'm sure there's nothing to be worried about. I'll admit I was a little surprised to find someone else down here, here being so dark and all, but it's just a big old room with pens, tape, post-its and CDs, right?"

With a baffled expression, Itey asked, "You mean you've never heard the stories about this place?"

Adren blinked. "What stories?" she inquired tentatively.

"The stories about the missing people - people who never returned after coming down here? Or the one about the lonely spirit—the ghost who clamps onto its victims and never lets them leave? Or the stories about how some of the survivors emerged with bruises and slashes on their arms?"

"No," she said slowly, "I never heard any of those… but, they're just stories. I'm certain of it."

"There's this chick in the Lab, though. She's always wearing these huge scarves every day. Swifty and Race said she wears them to cover up a white scar this long," Itey said, tracing a finger from the corner of his lips to the edge of his jaw. "They said she got the wound after coming down here."

The next few minutes lapsed in silence as the pair continued their search. Adren couldn't help but ponder over Itey's words, and she kept thinking she saw moving shadows beyond the reach of her flashlight.

"Hey," Itey called.

"What!" Adren cried out in shock. She realized she was letting the stories Itey mentioned unnerve her. "What is it?" she said more normally.

"What's up with you? Here," he said, and tossed a cube-like object towards her.

Catching it in her arms, Adren peered down at the large package and let out a gleeful shout. "Post-its!"

They considered themselves extremely lucky for they soon came upon the section of the shelves housing the CDs and other media. The pair also stocked up on any and all relevant supplies they saw - just in case - as neither was keen on returning to the supply room. With the flashlight as their guide, Itey and Adren eventually found their way back to the stairs leading out of the darkness. Just as they approached the stairway, a faint clatter from the other side of the large room echoed through the air. Itey and Adren looked at each other, their eyes wide with fear. Then they broke into a frantic run and climbed the steps swiftly despite their arms being filled up to their chins with supplies, despite their leaden legs worn from the chase and the hours of walking. With a joint effort, they pushed the door open and stepped into the light. It took several seconds for their eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lighting, but they welcomed radiant rays illuminating everything around them. Itey disdainfully kicked the supply room door to a close and Adren gave it another kick for good measure.

_Never again_, they both thought to themselves.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ This chapter is dedicated to AdrenalineRush16 as a belated birthday gift!

I apologize for the long wait; I'd been looking forward to writing this supply room chapter and am glad I finally got around to it! Shoutouts going out to: Song For A Rainy Day, Eavis, Repeat, stress—thank you so much for your feedback. Whenever the motivation to write faltered, I went back to your reviews and kept on truckin'. :) Adren and Acorn—thanks for the shoutouts!

For the curious, _The Elegant Universe_ was a PBS NOVA special on string theory and _Dirty Jobs_ is a Discovery Channel TV Series.


	6. The Future and the Past

_Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. All other characters belong to their respective creators._

* * *

**Chapter 06. The Future and the Past**

"Wait, hold the elevator!"

Upon hearing the cry from the lobby, he kicked out his foot and the elevator doors responded grudgingly, sliding back open with a low groan. Irish Flare came scurrying in - surprisingly quick, too, for someone who just a moment before was battling through the violent downpour outside while wearing incredibly high pumps. It was a wonder how anyone could maneuver around in the cruel footwear that was the style these days. But Irish, long-time practioner of trend-setting fashion, pulled those heels off with admirable grace.

Drenched, she wiped back strands of her raven hair from her face and tried to straighten her black blouse and blazer which clung uncomfortably to her skin. She wanted to kick herself for succumbing to her friends' party invitation last night—surely, had she not gone, she would not have slept late, woken up late, forewent checking the weather outside, and left the apartment this morning in such a hurry without an umbrella.

_It was a fun party, though_, she compensated reluctantly.

"God, I hate it when it rains," she mumbled to herself. Irish looked up to thank the person who held the doors for her. "Skittery," she said, surprised. From the way his brown eyes flitted away from her and the way he jammed his hands in his pockets, she knew he had been watching her. She swallowed and managed a smile. "Hey."

He nodded, staring at the doors. "Hey, IF."

"How are you? Awful weather, isn't it?"

"Fine. Yeah."

Irish almost sighed from his stiff responses. She wasn't blind to how strange he'd been acting in recent weeks, but she tried again anyway. "I haven't seen you in a while. You should drop by HR more often," she said amicably. Then, after a thoughtful pause, she added, "like you used to."

There was a flicker of some indiscernible emotion in his eyes, and Irish's hopes surged. Then, his eyes fixed on the elevator buttons, he became cool once again. "I'll see."

Hopes dashed, Irish became quiet until the doors opened on her floor. "I'll see you later, then," she said, smiling, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

"Later."

Irish Flare waited until the doors closed before turning back and listening to the elevator continue up to the Lab. She couldn't help but think there was something wrong…. After a moment, she shook her head. Maybe she was just looking into nothing—there wasn't anything wrong with Skittery, nor with their friendship. Yes, it was true they hadn't seen each other much lately, but perhaps he was just busy; after all, he was the only IT technician in the building. And, alas, it wasn't like Skittery earned his moody reputation for nothing. Half-convinced by the reasoning, Irish made her way to the Human Resources office.

"Miss Irish Flare, not looking like herself today," Dutchy announced teasingly, as Irish entered and answered Corky and Polaroid's morning greetings. Dutchy knew Irish as the type of person who never had a strand of hair out of place, but the storm was too much for even her to handle.

"Not now."

"Yes, ma'am."

She was just about to enter her small office—one she shared with Justine, the insanely anal head of HR—when, with a change of heart from a burst of curiosity, she whirled around to face Dutchy.

"What do you think of Skittery lately?" she asked before she could stop to think.

Dutchy was taken aback by the sudden and seemingly random inquiry, but only for a moment. "He's a stupid prick, as usual," he answered gaily.

"I'm serious."

Dutchy obliged. "Then, just the 'as usual' part. Why?"

"You don't think he's been acting strange?" She bit her lip pensively. "Distant?"

"No. Again, why?" said Dutchy.

"Nothing," she answered quickly, and took off towards her office.

Dutchy shrugged. _Speaking of Skittery_, he thought. "We haven't seen the guy up here in a while."

"Who?" asked Pie from his desk.

"Who else?"

"Ah. Yeah, he could use a good run around, I think."

"I like the way you think," Dutchy said with a mischievous grin. He stretched, cracking his knuckles. Opening his instant messaging program, he clicked on Skittery's name. Then, carefully placing his fingers upon the keyboard, he began to type.

**thedutchster:** you better get up here

_Was that urgent enough?_ Dutchy wondered. He knew it wasn't when Skittery finally replied.

**prodigy24:** why?

Dutchy knew he had to pique his interest; Skittery was already suspicious of the HR office because of all the false calls Dutchy and Pie had reported. Skittery was a damn know-it-all when it came to computers (as if the screen name wasn't obvious enough of that fact) and no task, despite being the only IT person on hand, seemed to disconcert him. So they made up wild science fiction stories about technology going haywire to persuade him to try and stump him. Why? Because for one thing, pissed off Skittery, glum Skittery, relaxed Skittery was common, but frazzled Skittery was a rare sight, and it was worth seeing. Second, pranking him was the only way they got the fella to HR these days. Dutchy figured Skittery was busy, but if he had time to play Solitaire for hours, then he had time to visit his HR friends. And with that logic in mind, Dutchy figured he was doing Skitts a favor.

**thedutchster:** pie's computer crashed**  
prodigy24:** uh huh.**  
thedutchster:** the screen is completely black and there's a picture of some rabbit thing in the corner**  
thedutchster:** you think someone hacked into his computer?**  
prodigy24:** no.**  
thedutchster:** then what else could it be?**  
prodigy24:** I just got in, all right? I've got some work to do.**  
prodigy24:** I'll see you guys at lunch.

Damn it all, Skittery had figured out their agenda. _ And_, Dutchy thought with a sigh, _he's in a bad mood_.

**thedutchster:** prick. get your ass up here. I'm serious**  
thedutchster:** pie's throwing a fit. He just chucked his mouse at me. You sure its not a hacker? This rabbit seems like a hacker signature or something**  
thedutchster:** shit the screen just went blue**  
thedutchster:** its like the freakin matrix!

Skittery took a while to get back to him, and Dutchy was afraid he decided to ignore his messages. But then:

**prodigy24:** I'll be down in a minute.

_Victory_. Dutchy leaned back in his seat with a smug look, his arms crossed behind his head. He glanced at his watch and began counting down. Bounding out of his seat, he walked over to Corky and Polaroid's cubicle.

"Hi Snorkel Cork, Polaroid the Android," he greeted. "Wanna see me predict the future?"

Polaroid gave him a curious look while Corky excitedly responded, "I didn't know you could see into the future."

Dutchy grinned and showed them his watch. "In exactly… ten seconds, the IT Guy is going to come running in through those doors."

Dutchy led the countdown. Precisely after "one," someone came rushing into the room. But it wasn't Skittery. Instead, it was a tall and lanky curly-topped kid with bushy eyebrows. As if this Not-Skittery character wasn't enough to throw Dutchy off, he was even sporting a goofy, wide grin. _Who is this kid and what the heck is he smiling about?_

"Wow, Dutchy, that's amazing!" Corky whispered in awe.

"Someone called IT?" the kid said.

"Yeah…" Dutchy answered slowly. "Where's Skitts?"

The kid gave a dumb salute in response. "The name is Snitch, reporting for IT duty." When Dutchy just stared at him blankly, Snitch continued. "I'm an IT intern. Skittery sent me up here to fix Pie Eater's computer."

"That little smartass," Dutchy muttered, imagining the smirk on Skittery's face. "Thanks, Snitch. You can take a seat over there," he said, motioning towards the couches in the corner that served as the waiting area.

Snitch was obviously confused. "But what about the computer…?"

"Just… wait over there for a sec," Dutchy said, trying to think. He knew he couldn't send Snitch back down, for Skittery would surely send him back up again if Dutchy called for his help. He had to hold the intern hostage in the meantime. He sat back down at his computer, frowning. His instant message box was blinking.

**prodigy24:** how's it going?

_Prick_, Dutchy thought.

**thedutchster:** snitch is working on it**  
prodigy24:** good.

Dutchy waited a good five minutes before typing a response.

**thedutchster:** crap**  
thedutchster:** snitch says you gotta see this

Exactly a minute and a half later, another curly-topped kid appeared in HR, asking if someone called for IT. This one was named Itey. Dutchy sat him down at the couch, too.

**thedutchster:** man no one can figure it out**  
prodigy24:** give them some time. These aren't simple fixes.

_Stubborn prick is probably just sitting around playing Solitaire_. It was time for some drastic fibbing. And Dutchy knew just which button to push.

**thedutchster:** Justine found out**  
thedutchster:** she's giving IF hell right now.

Dutchy didn't use this ploy often, because the more often he used any single method, the more wary Skittery became of it. Dutchy didn't know exactly why this tactic worked so well, but he did have a nagging suspicion—a suspicion he kept to himself, unless he never wanted to see Skittery in HR again. He waited a full minute for a reply. When none came, he began to type another message; just as he was about to hit "Enter," though, a _whoosh!_ came from the door.

Skittery. He was grasping at the door jambs, catching his breath. He brought with him his emergency messenger bag—filled with installation CDs and various software—a small toolbox, and a flashlight.

Dutchy and Pie jumped from their seats, arms raised high victoriously. They gave each other high fives and came round to greet their friend. Skittery took one quick look around, and he knew he'd been fooled yet again. Shoulders slumped in aggravation, he wheeled around to return to the Lab and came face to face with Irish Flare. She was just returning from the ladies room, where she went to dry herself after dropping off her things in the office.

"Skittery?" she said, eyes wide in surprise.

"Skittery!" Dutchy and Pie exclaimed. "Come have breakfast with us."

"IF," Skittery acknowledged curtly before allowing himself to be dragged off by his two friends.

"_Irish Flare_," Snitch, still sitting on the couches, said dreamily.

"Idiot," said Itey, still sitting next to Snitch, rolling his eyes.

Dutchy released the intern hostages, telling them to go take a well deserved break from work—even though they hadn't even started the day's work. Both Itey and Snitch stood and while Itey made to move, Snitch remained rooted to the spot.

Itey waved a hand in his face. "Hello?" He followed his friend's line of sight and saw Irish Flare at the end of it, whom was staring after the trio of employees now at Dutchy's cubicle.

"Hi, Irish Flare," said Snitch, the adoration evident even in his voice.

Irish turned to the interns, realizing they were there for the first time. "Oh, hey there."

"My name is Snitch. I'm an IT intern," Snitch introduced proudly.

"Hi, Snitch," she said. She sensed the awe in his voice and, a bit uncomfortable by his rapt attention, took a step towards her office.

"Miss Irish Flare!" Snitch yelled out suddenly, which made Irish jump and everyone in the office stare at them. "You're soaking wet! Did you get caught in the storm? Don't you have an umbrella?" he asked dramatically, obviously concerned. Itey smacked his forehead, ashamed of his friend's lack of self-respect.

Irish politely excused herself and scampered into her office. The sound of Justine's nagging voice was heard almost immediately, as she piled on the day's tasks on Irish. Irish rapidly took a seat and began to work, jotting down all of Justine's instructions.

Snitch sighed, looking longingly into Justine and Irish's office, and Itey clapped and grasped his friend's shoulder. He pushed Snitch out the door so they could return to the Lab.

When Dutchy, with narrowed eyes and a stupid smirk Skittery couldn't figure out, asked him why he refused to visit them lately, Skittery immediately changed the subject to the rumors going around about a second _Bring Your Kids to Work Day_ Jonathan was supposedly organizing. It got the two HR guys protesting and yapping nonstop, and Skittery took himself out of the conversation for just a moment, gazing in Irish's direction…

* * *

_Last Year, August_

4:56 PM.

Skittery clutched at the pair of tickets in one hand, the other tapping impatiently and nervously on the keyboard. Then, carefully, he reinserted the tickets into his backpack, making sure they didn't wrinkle. He began putting the finishing touches on the finance report spreadsheet, confident he could finish the task in the next four minutes. From the corner of his eye, he saw his fellow interns, David and Specs, both getting ready to leave. He made a show of having trouble with the report, knitting his brows and sighing once in a while.

"That must be a hell of a spreadsheet," Specs said, leaning over his cubicle. "You almost done?"

Skittery shook his head, jaws set. "You guys go ahead," he said, typing rapidly.

"You sure?" asked David. "We can hang around for a bit. Play a round of ping pong…"

"Nah, I'm fine," said Skittery. "This might be awhile."

"All right. Don't work too hard," Specs said, teasing.

Skittery waited until they were out of the office and on the elevator before he hastily shut down the computer and began packing his things. He was the only person left in the office. He threw on his tan lightweight jacket, slugged his backpack over his shoulder and slipped out of the Finance Office. Skittery powered off down the hall to Human Resources. He hoped he didn't miss her…

He had been walking so quickly that, upon reaching the doorway, he nearly collided into her as she stepped out of the HR office. They both jumped back in surprise, then laughed at themselves over the near accident.

"Hey, Skittery," she said, nudging him in the arm playfully.

"Hey. You taking off for the day?"

"Yeah, finally," she sighed. "How about you? Leaving early for once?"

"Just finished," he said. After a brief pause, he asked, "So, are you going out tonight?" He knew Irish liked going out for drinks as they had gone out several times as a group, with several other interns. He scratched the back of his head, suddenly all too aware of how much he sounded like a bashful, doting schoolboy.

Irish Flare didn't seem to notice, though. "No," she answered disappointedly. She loved going out after work to relieve the stress of the day. In addition, she was recently having some boy problems and desperately wanted to vent. Each and every one of her girl friends, however, had bailed on her for some reason or another—most excuses having to do with plans with the boyfriend. Irish had been thinking she'd have to go home and spend the rest of the evening frustrated and bored out of her mind. She wondered if Skittery would want to go out for one or two drinks—they had become good friends throughout their summer internship, so maybe he could even enlighten her as to the workings of the male mind. She was just about to ask him if he was busy when her phone started ringing. She took one look at the caller ID and sighed. _Speaking of boy problems_, she thought.

"Sorry, one second," she said to Skittery and flipped open the phone. "Hello?" she answered nonchalantly. "Hi," she said, trying her best to sound unenthused by his attention. "No, no plans today. _What?"_ she shouted."How? Those tickets sold out the first day!" She listened to him boast his own genius and the great lengths to which he went to procure the tickets. Then she listened, appalled, as he practically demanded she meet him at 34th street by six o'clock. _ The nerve of this guy!_ "I don't see why I have to go anywhere with you," she said icily.

It was always hot and cold with him. He hadn't called her for an entire week after their first date several weeks ago. Said he had been busy with work, like she wasn't. Then he called her every day and acted like a really nice—if not slightly possessive—guy. She had no idea if they were still just dating, or if he wanted to commit to a relationship, and it was all just very confusing. Irish wasn't particularly one for regulations, but this guy seemed to completely ignore all the unsaid rules of dating and relationships.

He was very firm about meeting at six. Irish stubbornly held her ground as well. Skittery leaned his head against the wall, patiently waiting for her to hang up.

Irish Flare began to weaken. He was telling her how many hours he spent looking for these tickets after she had casually mentioned them on one of their first dates. He was softening, too, asking her to please accompany him tonight. _Hot and cold_, Irish thought.

"Okay," she said finally, giving in, but her lips widened into a delighted smile; to be honest, she really wanted to go to the concert—she had been talking about it for months. "I'll see you at six. Yes, fine, I'll let you buy me dinner," she said, shaking her head at how charming he was being, and feeling like a very spoiled but very happy Queen.

She closed her phone and apologized to Skittery for making him wait. "Sorry, that was… this guy, I'm sort of seeing," she explained.

"Oh," was all he could say, crestfallen. He recovered quickly. "So, um, you're busy tonight, huh?"

"Yeah, it seems." She groaned. "I just can never figure out what he's thinking," she blurted. "That Spot Conlon. He's lucky he got those tickets or I wouldn't even think of seeing him again," she mumbled, even though she knew in the back of her mind that this was just hot air.

Skittery frowned, his brows snapping together in consternation. "Spot Conlon?"

"Yeah," she said. "Do you know him?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, he's a friend of mine."

"_Really?_ Well, can you please tell him to get his act together and stop being a tease?" When Skittery didn't answer, she placated him with a grin, explaining that she was just kidding. Irish glanced at the clock in the HR office and let out a gasp. "I have to go," she said. "You're done, right? Want to walk to the subway together?" she asked.

"No, I just remembered I have something to finish up back in the office," Skittery said, a bit lamely than he intended.

She gave him a fierce frown. "They work you guys too hard in Finance. We're just interns! There is no reason we should be staying later than the paid employees," she said resentfully.

"Ha, yeah."

She punched his arm lightly. "Don't stay too late."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She bid him goodbye and rushed towards the elevators. She waved at him once more before stepping into the lift, and he waved back feebly. The doors finally closed, and he let out the heavy sigh that had been building up inside him.

Skittery stood just outside of Human Resources for several minutes, leaning against the door as he took in the office setting, the afternoon sunlight streamed in from the windows. All offices appeared strangely alien when they were empty like this. His eyes stopped at Irish's small and cramped corner desk, the surface littered with dozens of scraps of scribbled notes. A small, melancholy smile tugged at his lips, but it disappeared as regret and disappointment overcame him.

He dug into his backpack and pulled out the two tickets. Skittery held them for a while, thinking of all the time he spent trying to find them after finding out how disappointed she was when the concert sold out. He tore them in half, then, and tossed the pieces into the wastebasket.

Skittery headed for home.

* * *

It was still raining, hard. The summer downpour was unforgiving today. Irish Flare wasn't looking forward to going outside again, after the fiasco this morning, but it was almost five o'clock, and she was desperate to be out of Justine's reach. Irish was also unusually tired today, as Justine had her running around the building all day, and she couldn't wait to go home and collapse on her bed.

She took one last look out the hallway windows and trudged back to Human Resources. Most people had left already; understandably, people were trying to avoid the inevitable heavy traffic due to the terrible weather. She entered the office and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Justine had checked out. Irish set her handbag on her desk and tossed in her phone and notepad, straightened her blazer, tied her long hair into a neat bun, and braced herself for the deluge. It was at that moment when she realized there was something on her desk that didn't belong to her. She had been so exhausted she didn't even notice it sitting there at first, but there it was, purposely set in the middle of her desk:

An umbrella.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Who left the umbrella for Irish Flare? I shall leave you to your own conclusions for now. :)

Thank you everyone for the feedback on the last chapter!  
Adren - I want to jump into this make-believe world, too. Who wouldn't want to work with these boys?  
Elizabeth95 - Thanks so much! Glad you're enjoying it so far.  
Acorn - Department store supply room horror stories? I'd like to hear them!  
Repeat - I'm glad the last chapter made you happy! For me, that's what makes writing this story worthwhile.  
Eavis - Thanks! Hopefully there will be other good chapters to come.  
Stress - I'm so relieved that you like your character! It's always been difficult for me to write other's characters (especially when putting them in such semi-ridiculous situations) so it means a lot!  
Song For A Rainy Day - Wouldn't want to be rid of you - your reviews always make me laugh! I've never worked at a publishing company, but I did look up job and internship positions as part of my little research. :)


	7. Hush Hush Halfsies

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. All other characters belong to their respective creators.

* * *

**Chapter 07. Hush-Hush Halfsies**

_Cubicle: A Valentine's Day Special_.  
Brought to you by Jonathan.

Pegasus carefully set down on her desk the steaming mug of green tea she just brewed in the small kitchen area, located in the back of the Lab. She stretched her arms out before plopping down onto the leather seat. Already feeling the cold blast from the broken vents above, Peg fixed the scarf around her face, retreating into it like an agitated turtle.

She had completed her tasks early today, as it was only 4PM. After double-checking her finished work on her computer—making sure the files were named correctly, that they were in the appropriate folders, and that they were uploaded to the shared drive accordingly—she absently pulled up her e-mail to see if there was anything Jack or the others needed her to do.

_Nope_.

Nothing important anyway. Peg did have one new e-mail: a company announcement from Jonathan, whose e-mails she usually ignored because they were normally filled with event proposals, overexcited exclamation marks, and other jibberjabber. But seeing as she had nothing better to do at the moment, she decided to open the mail.

It read:

From: Jonathan

To: pegasus(at)pulitzerpublishing(dot)com  
Subject: Hush-Hush Halfsies Tomorrow!

**ATTENTION PULITZER PUBLISHING EMPLOYEES AND BRILLIANT INTERNS!**

As you all know by now (as I have been sending daily e-mail reminders throughout the week!) tomorrow is the annual HUSH-HUSH HALFSIES! Please show your company spirit and your TEAM spirit! Please show your fellow co-workers that you CARE!

For the precious few who are still unaware of this annual tradition, I have attached the original e-mail I sent earlier this week:

**ATTENTION PULITZER PUBLISHING EMPLOYEES AND BRILLIANT INTERNS!**

**Mark your calendars!  
The annual HUSH-HUSH HALFSIES is upon us!**

That most wonderful day of the summer is drawing near! Hush-Hush Halfsies is **this Friday**! You read right. This Friday!

What is Hush-Hush Halfsies you ask? Excellent question.

Hush-Hush Halfsies is a summer celebration of everyone at Pulitzer Publishing. It is a celebration of YOU, the employees, by YOU, the employees! Hush-Hush Halfsies was inspired by the Secret Santa tradition, in which, as many know, a person secretly and randomly picks a name out of a hat, for whom he or she is to present a gift. But why should this exciting custom come once a year? Hence Hush-Hush Halfsies: an event that takes place at the year's half point mark!

Hush-Hush Halfsies is a day when you show your appreciation for a special co-worker by presenting them with cards, hugs, gifts, compliments, chocolates, flowers, a pat on the back - anything!

"Oh! But I am too shy to do such a thing!" you say? Here's the best part for you, then: you can make your own appreciation known anonymously (hence the "Hush-Hush" of Hush-Hush Halfsies)! For example, you can send an anonymous card of thanks. How **easy** is that?

This Friday, be prepared to demonstrate your TEAM spirit, to share your gratitude, and to be showered with love!

This Friday. Hush-Hush Halfsies.

If you have any questions, I, Jonathan, would be more than happy to address them.

Yours truly,  
Jonathan

jonathan(at)pulitzerpublishing(dot)com  
Assistant to Mr. Pulitzer  
Head Event Coordinator  
Head Intern Coordinator

_Oh, grief, a Jonathan event_, Peg thought wearily. Surely that meant he'd be running around the building all day tomorrow, sticking his nose in other people's cubicles and making certain everyone was celebrating the event. She had never heard of this "Hush-Hush Halfsies," as she had only begun working at the Pulitzer Publishing Company since the beginning of the year. She thought to ask Jack or Swifty, who had interned in the summer, but her attention was diverted when an instant message window popped up on her screen. It was Stress.

**curiouserx2:** Oh my god, did you get the email?

Peg wrote back:

**ImaPirate20:** About "Yay, Hush-Hush Halfsies!"?  
**ImaPirate20:** *facepalm***  
curiouserx2:** I know**  
curiouserx2:** I asked David about it. Apparently this "team spirit" nonsense is Jonathan's sneaky way of adding a second Valentine's Day in the year, and it's become a day for people to get gifts for their work crushes.**  
curiouserx2:** You-know-who said that it's Jonathan's way of trying to get people to love him. Heh heh.**  
ImaPirate20:** That's… kind of sad.**  
ImaPirate20:** Wait, you talked to Jack?(!) Why was I not notified of this momentous occasion?**  
curiouserx2:** Shh, not so loud! I mean… you know what I mean. David told me that it's what you-know-who said. Not me, I didn't talk to you-know-who.**  
ImaPirate:** Voldemort?**  
curiouserx2:** Haha**  
ImaPirate20:** I don't see the point of this thing tomorrow.**  
ImaPirate20:** As if we single girls need another day of chugging down a gallon of rocky road ice cream in our corners while everyone else stare googly-eyed at each other. Mutiny, I say! Mutiny!**  
curiouserx2:** Hear, hear!  
**curiouserx2:** …**  
curiouserx2:** … so?  
**ImaPirate20:** what?  
**curiouserx2:** Who's going to be your Halfsie?

* * *

_Next Day. The Lab_**  
**

_Maybe I should make an appointment with a chiropractor_, Acorn thought sardonically, when, with a grimace, she felt an alarming crack in her spine. It was 8:30AM and she was just entering the building with her arms full of brown bags. The weight of the bags today was proving to be more than she could handle. Jonathan had been talking about Hush-Hush Halfsies for weeks—in fact, he'd talked of nothing else. In order to properly kick off his event, he had Acorn place an order for and pick up an array of bagels, various flavors of cream cheeses, breakfast sandwiches, mini-donuts, muffins, apple juice, orange juice, and iced coffee. Acorn thought her arms were going to fall out of their sockets. It was impossible—impossible!—for one person to do all this work. Yet here she was, managing the workload of at least four people all by herself.

_Positive thoughts_, Acorn reminded herself, taking a deep, cleansing breath. This was no time to panic.

She shuffled to the elevator, dropped the bags on the floor momentarily, pressed the button for the elevator and waited. She was a bit disappointed by the morning's events so far, having had to: wake up earlier than usual in order to come to work early, pick up seven bags worth of breakfast groceries, trek the seven long New York City blocks that separated the café and the office. But most of all, she was disappointed by the lack of bumping into a certain Jack Kelly, the guy who had wonderfully helped her carry the coffee trays. After she met him that morning, she had taken up the privileges that came with being a top Assistant and searched for "Mr. Kelly" (as Jonathan had called him) in their employee files, discovering that he was part of the company's Web Team, which meant that, typically, he spent most of his time working in the Lab.

Of course she wouldn't bump into him; no one came into work before 9AM. She sighed before lugging all of her bags into the elevator. Acorn paused with her finger poised towards the buttons as the lift doors slid to a close and waited for her direction.

A crazy idea occurred to her. She couldn't believe the thought had the nerve to even enter her mind. It must have been all this ridiculous Hush-Hush Halfsies talk from Jonathan getting to her. Acorn laughed softly in disbelief: Hush-Hush Halfsies was such a silly event, and from the moment Jonathan mentioned it, it had been the bane of her life, as evident by the three-ton bags she now carried in her arms.

And yet still, the idea remained, persistent. She couldn't believe what she was about to do.

Acorn stepped off the elevator and struggled through the glass Lab doors. The place was, as expected, empty. Putting down the bags once again, she rummaged through each one and dug out a breakfast sandwich—egg, bacon, and cheese on a plain bagel—a blueberry muffin, and an iced coffee. With the items cradled in her arms, she crept around the Lab, reading the name plates, searching for his desk. She had circled around the place until she found his lone cubicle in the nook that apparently belonged to the Web Team. Acorn pushed the keyboard slightly out of the way and neatly laid the breakfast on his desk.

She felt oddly nervous, like a giddy schoolgirl about to pass by her crush in the hallway. She wondered what time he would get into the office.

Glancing at her watch and realizing she was running late, Acorn quickly grabbed the bags and headed for the elevators.

* * *

Jack entered the Lab that morning, walking in long strides. A busy day awaited him, with meetings scheduled for most of the day. His first meeting was going to begin in twenty minutes and he barely had time to go, wait in the insanely long line, and snatch the free Hush-Hush Halfsies breakfast downstairs. Jack turned the corner into the Web Team's nook and fell into his seat, deciding to check his e-mail before the meeting.

He stopped. Sitting expectantly on his desk was a wrapped sandwich, a muffin, an iced coffee, and a napkin. His stomach growled greedily. Jack looked around, wondering who left the food on his desk. The only person nearby was Pegasus.

"Hey," he called. She looked up from behind her huge glasses. "You know who left this here?" he asked, indicating the breakfast on his desk.

Peg shook her head. "They were there when I got in."

Jack raised a brow, suspicious.

She caught the look. "It's Hush-Hush Halfsies," she said obviously, as if that alone were a sufficient explanation. When he still looked blank, she further explained: "Someone left that breakfast for you. It looks like you've got yourself a little secret admirer," she said merrily.

"Huh. Yeah?" Jack slowly reached for the sandwich, hastily unwrapped it, took a bite, and sighed from absolute happiness. He didn't realize how hungry he had been until that first mouthful.

_A secret admirer, huh?_ Jack leaned back in his seat.

He wondered who it was.

* * *

Polaroid was on mailroom duty today—a very tedious but demanding task due to the large volumes of mail that came in daily. This was her second time down in the mailroom and she learned that it was essential to bring her mp3 player with her this time around. She almost fell asleep the first time she sorted mail; luckily, she had caught herself before dozing off completely and falling face first into the pile of envelopes.

She plugged in her earphones and turned the volume up. It began with a bobbing of the head, a snapping of the fingers, then a tapping of the feet, and soon Polaroid was completely in her own world, surrounded by only the music and rhythm from her mp3 player. She flew and pirouetted around the mailroom, her graceful form reaching for new mail, then tossing them over her shoulder into the appropriate bins. Polaroid felt most at ease with herself when she was dancing—all of her anxieties, insecurities, timidity dissolved away into nothingness when she danced. She was free, without a care in the world.

So absorbed was she in her music that she didn't hear the mailroom door open behind her.

Bumlets stood in the doorway, completely bemused and amused by the scene before him. Specs was expecting an urgent package and had asked him to go check if it had arrived. The last thing Bumlets expected to see in the mailroom was a girl kick ball changing and free spinning around the place. Her dark brown hair fanned out softly about her shoulders as she made another elegant turn. He wasn't sure whether he should interrupt or simply go about his own business. But she looked so content and at peace that he decided to quickly sift through the packages and make a speedy exit.

Just as soon as he made the choice, though, the girl twirled around again, moving towards the door and him. Bumlets, frozen, stared helplessly as her brown eyes met his and opened wide in shock. She had stopped directly in front of him.

She let out a surprised squeak and a "holy buddy!" and jumped back, her face turning crimson from embarrassment.

"Uh…" Bumlets uttered awkwardly. "Hi."

She blinked a couple of times, as though to gather her senses, then gave a terse nod of acknowledgment. She pulled out her earphones, stuffed them in her jeans pocket and stiffly returned to sorting, cautiously avoiding him at all costs.

Bumlets felt embarrassed himself for having been caught staring and for causing her embarrassment. He racked his brain, trying to remedy the uncomfortable situation.

"Um… so, do you dance a lot?" He groaned inwardly. _Stupid, stupid question._

The girl barely looked in his direction. "Sometimes," she answered meekly.

"You're really good. You take any classes?" he asked.

This time, he managed to obtain a small smile. "No, I just dance for fun."

"Really? I take jazz and contemporary classes at this awesome dance center in Midtown. You should think about taking it up seriously."

She let out a self-conscious chuckle. "I'm not that good," she said modestly.

"No, really, you are. You've got great lines." Bumlets almost smacked himself in the forehead when he heard his own words. _Oh, man, that sounded like a really bad pick-up line_. He hoped she didn't think he was some creepy flirt with cheesy one-liners.

It didn't seem like she did. The girl beamed up at him, appreciative of the compliments. "I've always wanted to take dance classes."

Bumlets grinned. "Tell ya what. I'll give you the number and address of the dance center and you can go check it out. Trial classes are free," he added.

"That would be really nice," she said, looking up at him bashfully through her lashes.

He grinned, and reluctantly resumed looking for Specs' package as she carried on with sorting the mail.

"Sorry," Bumlets spoke again, "I didn't catch your name. Are you an intern?"

She nodded. "Polaroid. I intern at Human Resources."

"I'm Bumlets," he introduced, extending a hand. "The lone intern at Finance."

Polaroid's eyes went wide again. "_You're_ the Finance intern that switched places with me?"

* * *

_Corner Pizza Place_

_Lunchtime!_

Adren pushed open the door into the corner pizza place where a long line had already formed. She picked up a cold beverage from the coolers and took her place in the back of the line. The aroma of freshly baked bread, melting cheeses, roasted vegetables, and special pizza sauce wafted from the firing ovens. Adren peered through the glass at the pizzas on display and settled on the Specialty pizza for today for all its vegetable toppings, pepperoni and sausage. She tapped her chin, wondering if she brought enough money to get a side of garlic knots, too.

"Hey, Post-it Girl."

Breaking off from her musings, Adren turned abruptly. Itey stood two people behind her. She waved, grinning. "Hi, CD WonderBoy!"

He smirked, amused. It was the first time he saw her since the supply room incident a couple of days ago. Somehow, she looked different today. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. Maybe it was the setting: seeing a fellow intern outside of the Pulitzer building was probably throwing him off. That explanation wasn't enough. Maybe it was because he could see her features clearly for the first time (it was difficult to discern physical characteristics in the dark of an eerie supply room): she was actually on the petite side, with shoulder-length auburn hair, olive green eyes, and a bright smile.

"What?" she asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Do I have something on my face?" Adren asked, poking at her cheeks.

Itey felt his face flush. "Uh… yeah, right—right there. Yeah, it's gone now."

She grinned. "Thanks."

The line moved quickly. Adren pulled up to the counter, placed her order, and continued along to the cash register. Itey soon followed, ordering two slices of pepperoni and one of the Specialty. A clinking of change caught his attention and he turned to watch Adren counting her coins on the counter.

"How much are the zeppole?" she asked the man at the register. When the man replied, her shoulders visibly slumped. "Oh, nevermind then. Just the pizza, thank you."

After paying, she happily took the small brown bag with her pizza and headed for the door, planning to return to the office. Just before leaving, she turned around and gave Itey another wave.

"See you later!"

"Yeah, later," he returned.

He stepped up to the register to pay.

"That's one specialty and two pepperoni, one soda. That'll be $8.10."

"Erm, can I get some of those, too?" Itey asked, pointing.

"Sure thing. Then your total is $11.10. All right, a twenty, here's your change, $8.90. Thank you, have a nice day."

"Thanks."

* * *

_Editor's Floor_

"Wow. Wow," whispered Adren. She exited the conference room in a state of complete awe.

When she came back to the office from the pizza place, an emergency meeting was in the midst of assembling. Kloppman had been calling all the editors to the conference room and Adren watched, amazed, at the stream of editors marching at his command. Stress had pulled her over and asked her if she wanted to sit in on the meeting. Adren, of course, heartily went along.

It was the first meeting she had attended when all the editors assembled in one room.

"I feel so official now," she said as she returned to her desk. Though the excitement from the meeting remained, another feeling quickly made itself known: hunger. Her pizza was surely cold now. Maybe she could go to the kitchen and heat it up in the microwave. She reached for the brown bag and instantly realized that there were two bags sitting on her desk.

"What's this?" she pondered aloud. She opened both bags and peeked inside: one was her pizza slice, the other was, surprisingly, a plate of zeppole. _But I didn't buy any zeppole_, she thought in confusion. She noticed, then, a post-it stuck haphazardly on the outside of the zeppole bag. She squinted and read the sloppily handwritten note:

_Thanks for helping in the supply room  
(no thanks for the clobbering of the head)  
__Happy Hush-Hush Halfsies  
- Itey_

* * *

_The Lab_

Peg's phone buzzed, alarming her. She plucked out her earphones and picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is you-know-who there?"

"Nope. Why?"

"Do you know if he's had lunch?"

"Um, not sure. I think he's just been in meetings all day so far."

"Okay, thanks."

Half an hour later, Peg's phone began vibrating again.

"Yep?"

"Hi, is you-know-who there?"

"Not yet."

"Are Swifty and Race there?"

"Nope, I think they're at lunch."

"How many people are in the Lab right now?"

"Uh…" Peg stretched her neck over her cubicle to count. "A handful."

"A handful, huh?" Stress paused. "Can you do me a huge favor?"

After orchestrating an elaborate plan, Pegasus eventually met Stress in the elevator, covertly took the plastic bag in her hands, saw Stress off on the Editor's floor, returned down to the Lab and delivered the plastic bag to Jack's desk, who was still in his meeting.

When he returned to his cubicle fifteen minutes later, he noticed the bag straight away.

"Hey, Peg. Did you see who left this here?"

"Hmm? Nope," she lied. Then, she feigned exaggerated interest. "Another Hush-Hush Halfsie? You sure are popular!" she said gaily.

Jack removed the plastic bowl from the bag and popped open the lid. Upon laying his eyes on the bowl's contents, he laughed and sighed as if he were in heaven. "I think I'm starting to like this Halfsies day." _Just in time for lunch, too_, he thought.

"The Santa Fe wrap combo," he said to himself happily. "My favorite."

* * *

_Human Resources_

"You look happy about something," said Corky observantly as Polaroid returned from the mailroom.

"Do I?" Polaroid asked, self-conscious.

"What is it?" Corky asked excitedly, leaning forward.

"It's nothing," Polaroid said bashfully, tucking her hair behind her ear. She spied a box wrapped in sparkling paper on Corky's desk. "What's _that_?"

Corky held the box proudly. "What, this?" She grinned sheepishly. "It's for my Hush-Hush Halfsie."

"_Really?_"

Corky nodded so gleefully that she had to adjust the eyeglasses on the bridge of her nose. She had been thinking about Hush-Hush Halfsies ever since she read the first e-mail from Jonathan.

Polaroid didn't have to venture a guess as to who Corky's intended Halfsie was. It was, actually, one of the first things she learned on her internship.

"When are you going to give it to him?" she asked Corky, who suddenly looked bashful.

Corky stole a brief glance towards his desk, collected all the courage she could muster, and rose carefully from her seat. She made for his cubicle.

"Hi, Dutchy," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray how nervous she felt.

"Heya, Cork Spork! How can I help ya?"

"Heh, well… um… it's Hush-Hush Halfsies today and…" She thrust the box in front of his face. "Here."

Dutchy looked momentarily stunned. Corky's face fell, mistaking the lack of reaction as a rejection; she slowly pulled the box back, at which Dutchy—snapping out of his astonished state—sprung into motion, grabbing the box and hugging it to his chest. A boyish grin formed along his face.

"Wow, Corky," he said gratefully. "You're my first ever Halfsie."

"'Cause no one else loves you," informed Pie happily.

Dutchy winked at Corky. "He's just jealous he didn't get anything yet. Can I open it?" he asked, shaking the box curiously.

When she nodded in response, he eagerly tore at the wrapping, plucked at the tape, and opened the box. He let out a hoot of laughter as he extracted a small bobblehead doll in his spitting image, with light blonde hair, thin-framed glasses and a tan shirt.

Corky had actually spotted the bobblehead in a gift shop a couple of months ago. She hadn't thought much on it, for that was before she came to work at Pulitzer Publishing and before she met Dutchy. In a moment of enlightenment yesterday during lunch, she recalled Dutchy's likeness to the doll—or rather, the doll's likeness to Dutchy - and went straight to the gift shop after work. Corky had been lucky as she snatched the last remaining doll on display.

"Pie, look at this—it's a mini-me," Dutchy announced smugly, shaking and showing off the bobblehead.

"Haha, looks just like you," said Pie. "Big head and everything."

Dutchy turned to Corky, pointing a thumb in Pie's direction. "Jealous."

She smiled softly. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I love it! How could I not love something that looks as handsome as me?"

Corky laughed, relieved that he genuinely liked the gift. "I just wanted to get you something for helping me that day when I came to interview."

Dutchy chuckled. "Oh, yeah. I remember. You ran around the entire building like someone training for the marathon."

"And when you asked me what I was looking for—"

"—turned out you were looking for this exact office," Dutchy finished. He added jokingly, "And who better to direct you to HR than an HR man?"

Corky felt her heart swell knowing that Dutchy remembered their first meeting so vividly. "You were so nice to me that day—making jokes so I wouldn't be nervous. I really appreciated it."

"What can I say? It's a gift I have," he said, sighing dramatically.

She laughed. "Happy Hush-Hush Halfsies, Dutchy."

"Happy Halfsies, Corkmeister."

* * *

_The Lab._

"_Dear Irish Flare,  
Today is Hush-Hush Halfsies  
I have been weakened in the knees  
You are so beautiful and smart  
O, be still my heart!  
I fell for you at first sight  
You are so dynamite!  
I hope you have a great day  
No worries or problems today - hurray!"_

"What d'you think?" Snitch asked.

"This… is a poem?" Itey asked in horror, holding Snitch's card in his hands as though it were a wholly hideous and disgusting creature.

"I wrote it last night. You think I should tweak it a little before I give the card to her?"

"I think you should burn it."

"Shut up. I'm serious."

"So am I. This is the most awful thing I've ever read."

"Like you could do better."

"A five-year old could do better."

Snitch huffed up defensively. "I'm gonna go for a second opinion."

"Good luck," said Itey, shoving the card back at him.

Snitch moseyed over to Mush and Kid Blink, who shared a wide cubicle in front of them. "Hey, guys," he called.

"Hiya, Snitch," they greeted cheerfully. "What's up?" asked Blink.

"Wanna read a poem I wrote for my Hush-Hush Halfsie?"

Mush's interest was instantly piqued. "Is it a love poem?" he asked.

"Sure is," Snitch said enthusiastically.

He handed them the card on which he wrote his poem and waited anxiously for their response. Blink took the card and shared it with Mush, who stood up to read over his friend's shoulder. Their faces changed from interest to disbelief to denial, then back to disbelief.

"Uh, Snitch," Mush began slowly, "I don't know how to tell you this, but… this is really, really, just really bad."

Snitch frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah," Blink agreed. After a moment, he offered helpfully, "Try writing more about her."

"Pick out something about her - her hair, her eyes. Write what's in your heart, you know?" said Mush.

"What's in my heart, huh?" Snitch mumbled thoughtfully. "Thanks, guys. I'll try that."

Snitch went back to his desk, erased the poem, picked up a pencil, and reflected carefully on how he felt. He soon realized that translating his emotions into words was not a simple task. How could he articulate the delicate and intangible feelings that he felt whenever he saw Irish Flare? Snitch sighed, his brows furrowed deep in concentration. With a steady, composed hand, he put pencil to paper and finally began to write.

* * *

_Human Resources_

_"I don't know how to begin  
Every time I see you, I wonder  
Art thou an angel?  
Cascading raven locks, captivating blue eyes.  
I'm spellbound.  
Heady under your magic, I wonder  
Could this be a curse?  
To love another, who turns the other cheek.  
I'm not sure.  
But this I know, my dear Irish Flare  
I'd rather be cursed under your hex  
Than to not have known your enchantment  
At all._

_- Snitch_

_P.S. Happy Hush-Hush Halfsies!"_

"Oh, my god," Irish Flare whispered after she finished reading the card that was left on her desk.

"What's the matter?" snapped Justine.

"Nothing," Irish quickly replied, hiding the card from her boss.

She allowed herself to fall back into her chair. She looked down at the card and frowned in incredulity. Never had she seen anyone be so forward in their adoration. Irish knew that what Snitch felt was just that: adoration, puppy-love, a small crush. Unfortunately, she didn't feel the same way. How could she deal with this situation? She rubbed at her temple. _Maybe_, she thought, _it was best to let the crush run its short course._ That seemed to be the best solution for now. Snitch would surely forget about her within a week's time.

Fully convinced, Irish turned her attention to the computer and returned to work.

What she didn't know then, though, was that this was only the beginning…

* * *

_The Lab_

At 4:30PM, David entered the Lab. He exhaled a heavy sigh. He carried by his side a large picnic basket, blanketed on the inside by a red-and-white checkered cloth. Frowning by the empty desk, David looked this way and that, searching the Lab. When he could not find what he sought, David sighed again. Left with no other choice, he dropped the basket down on Jack's desk along with a small card.

Just as he made to leave and return to the Finance office, he caught the odd looks and raised eyebrows of Race and Swifty.

"What?" asked David.

"Nothin', Dave," said Race. "What'cha got there?" he questioned, eyeing the basket.

"Oh, some cookies and stuff."

"Uh-huh," Swifty said suspiciously. "Halfsies?"

"Yeah," David confirmed. Then understanding hit him at once. "Oh. Oh! No, these - these are from my sister, Sarah."

"_Oh!_" said Swifty and Race together in realization.

"Oh yeah, I remember Sarah," Race said, nodding.

"You guys didn't actually think that I…? Because no way," said David. "Jack and I are friends. _Just_ friends."

"No, no, of course not!" said Swifty, overcompensating.

"Yeah, Davey, of course it's from Sarah. We ain't stupid," Race added.

"Good," David said, relieved to clear the misunderstanding.

Jack came strolling in at that moment, slowing down when he saw David by his cubicle. He then noticed the basket sitting on his desk.

"Hey, Davey. This from you?" asked Jack.

"No, darn it! They're from Sarah. She made all this for you when I told her about the stupid Halfsies day Jonathan announced," David insisted.

Jack ignored his friend's denial as he picked up and quickly read the card addressed to him. The basket was indeed prepared by Sarah, as she wrote him a Happy Hush-Hush Halfsies.

"Thanks, pal. Happy Hush-Hush Halfsies to you, too," Jack said to David teasingly, feigning ignorance of the plain evidence presented in the card.

"Haha."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I had been stuck on what and who to write about for Chapter 7, but luckily inspiration struck in the form of an incredibly fluffy Valentine's Day Special. Since I can't actually use Valentine's Day (it is the middle of summer in Cubicle land, after all), I had Jonathan come up with this lame-o idea and highlighted all the amazing OCs of Cubicle in their own little segment. It was kind of an ambitious chapter for me to write, but I'm glad I saw it through. Hope you enjoyed this Special Presentation!


	8. The Giant Slayers

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. All other characters belong to their respective creators.

* * *

**Chapter 08. The Giant Slayers**

"I am strong. I will not let Snoddy ruin the luncheon today," Pegasus directed meditatively.

"I am strong. I will not let Snoddy ruin the luncheon today," repeated Stress.

"Deep breath in."

Stress inhaled slowly.

"And out. How do you feel?" asked Peg.

"A little better," Stress said. She shuffled through her index card notes again while sipping her coffee.

The two girls were having breakfast in the seventh floor dining room. The dining room was smaller and markedly less popular than the cafeteria on the second floor, and for that reason it was quieter and the better place to study. With several modest round tables scattered around the imperial purple-carpeted room, the place even emulated the feel of a secluded study hall.

"I just wish Jonathan didn't pair me up with Snoddy to present at the CCLS Luncheon today," she said despondently.

Peg crinkled her nose and raised her glass of orange juice in the air. "Here's to hoping Snoddy doesn't talk about life lessons he learned from keg parties."

Shoulders slumped with doubt, Stress nevertheless met the toast. "Here, here."

"There you are!"

The two girls turned to see Adren jogging towards them. "Good morning!" she said brightly.

Stress made with the introductions. "Peg, this is the wonderful Adren I told you about. Adren, Peg - the reason why I haven't gone completely crazy yet from working here."

"And by 'working here,' she means 'working with Snoddy,'" Peg added helpfully.

Adren groaned at the name.

"You're already familiar with Captain Fratboy, huh?" Peg noted with empathy as Stress waved Adren over to sit and join them.

"Unfortunately," Adren nodded, in the same dejected way Stress had responded before. "He actually takes me and Jake out to lunch sometimes, which is nice of him… until he starts with his, 'you know, when I was in college with Pi Kappa Alpha…'" Adren imitated in a deep voice. Just thinking about the two hour-lunches listening to Snoddy and Jake talk so excitedly about their "little club" was exhausting.

"Jake is the other intern, right?" Peg questioned.

"Right," Stress confirmed. "Fratboy Junior."

"Ladies, ladies! How are you all on this beautiful morning?"

Adren turned round curiously to see who it was that was speaking to them, while Peg and Stress stiffened, immediately recognizing the strained, mousy voice. After months of working at Pulitzer Publishing, the voice had become a trigger for a feeling of dreaded annoyance. They slowly tilted up their heads to see Jonathan hovering over their shoulders. He wore an expectant smile on his face, eyeing the notes Stress had laid out before her.

"I see you've been preparing, Miss Stress! Excellent. I trust you will cover in detail every point I outlined in the syllabus I sent you yesterday?"

Stress forced a smile. "Yes, of course," she said through her teeth.

"Excellent, excellent! Fantastic. I'm expecting a lot from you and Mr. Snoddy today. You do know you that you two are the first to kick off the new CCLS? It is absolutely imperative to set just the right tone for our brilliant little interns." Jonathan placed a hand on Adren's shoulder and patted it encouragingly.

Adren covertly raised a brow in Peg's direction.

Stress summoned a laugh. "Right," she agreed.

Jonathan's grin grew wider. "Excellent. Remember, first impressions are crucial. I'll be keeping an eye on you two today," he said in an eerily cheery voice. "I know you won't let me down," he added. With that, he turned round and glided and tapped out of the room, jumping and clicking his heels just before disappearing around the corner.

Stress, Peg, and Adren stared after his puzzling exit. They waited until he was out of sight to let out their caught breaths of anxiety.

"He's crazy, that's all there is to it," said Stress with finality.

"What are you talking about?" Adren asked, concerned.

Stress pulled out from her bag a stack of papers neatly stapled together. "Look at this. This is the syllabus he sent me yesterday: 15 pages of bullet point notes. How does he expect us to go over all of this 'in detail,'" she said, flipping the pages, "in under forty minutes?"

Adren's eyes widened in disbelief and Peg's head tilted to the side wondering how Jonathan could have possibly thought anyone could accomplish running through his lengthy notes in such a short amount of time. "Forty minutes," she whispered to herself. A sudden panic gripped her as though she were forgetting something important.

"Minutes—_what time is it?_" she shouted, jumping from her seat and glancing at her phone for the time. Pegasus groaned and hurriedly gathered her bag, laptop, and leftover breakfast, stuffing a piece of toast in her mouth when she ran out of hands. "Sorry, Stress, I have a meeting to get to. I'll be at the luncheon this afternoon," she rattled, her words garbled by the toast. "And don't worry too much about that ridiculous syllabus. You're the Editor with the editorial experience presenting at the Editorial Luncheon, so you know better than he does."

"_I am the Editor_," Stress meditated.

With a satisfied nod and a goodbye to the girls, Peg scurried out of the dining room and headed down to the Lab.

* * *

"Stacy, sweetheart, don't say that. You know I…" Swifty lowered his voice before continuing. "You know I love you."

"Shaddup, loverboy, and help me get the damn bastard that just attacked me!" Race yelled from his cubicle. "Someone get that headpiece from his ear and chuck it out the window. Can't believe she got him that damn Bluetooth headset…"

"Swifty, get off the phone and get to work," Jack said authoritatively. He himself was concentrating on his computer, his fingers punching the keyboard rapidly, trying to get back to Race in _World of Warcraft_.

"What was _that_?" Skittery said in frustration when Swifty's hand slipped and his avatar did a dizzying pirouette. The IT tech was standing over Swifty's cubicle trying to get him to hang up on his annoying girlfriend and pay attention to the game.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart. It's just the guys joking around. You know how they are. They're such clowns, haha. No! What are you talking about? Of course, they love you! They're always saying how much they want to see you again."

Race sent Skittery a frown. "He talking about _us_ wanting to see _his girlfriend_ again?" he asked disbelievingly.

Before Skittery could answer, Pegasus came scampering into the Web corner with arms full of things and mouth full of toast.

"Sorry, I'm…" She caught everyone playing _World of Warcraft_ and slowed in setting down her bag and laptop. "—late. What's going on?"

"Warcraft session," Jack replied absently, still absorbed by his game.

"Don't we have a meeting now?"

"Meeting?" Jack repeated dumbly. He chanced a glance at his wristwatch, then promptly jumped back in his seat. "Damn, it's already 10. Uh…" Jack stared longingly at his computer. After a few seconds pause, he repositioned himself and continued playing, a mischievous smile on his face. "As the meeting organizer, I hereby postpone the Web meeting to 10:05AM."

A mumble of "yeah, yeah"s answered.

"Thanks for the reminder, Peg," Jack added.

"You going to eat that anytime?" Skittery suddenly asked her.

"Huh?" Peg realized she was still clutching at the toast with her teeth. She laughed at herself and finally took a bite now that she was settled. "Forgot that was there."

"You're such a dork," he chuckled.

"I am not," she said indignantly.

"Your screen name is 'I'm a Pirate.'"

"So?"

"You watch _Dirty Jobs_ marathons."

"It's an entertaining and educational show."

"You laugh at Davey's jokes."

"They're so bad that they're funny."

"You have an _Indiana Jones_ action figure on your desk."

Her eyes flitted to the six-inch replica figure in question. "That happens to be a collector's item."

"Verdict says… you're a dork."

"Verdict says your evidence makes me a geek, not a dork," she said victoriously, though as the words came out, she wasn't quite sure if geekdom was any better than dorkdom. "Nerd," she finished unsatisfactorily.

"Stacy, love, I'm listening to everything you're saying. You were just talking about how Patricia tried on the same green dress you did and looked horrible in it. See? I'm listening. I know, sweetie."

Peg rose from her seat and, resting her elbows on the cubicle wall, watched Swifty curiously, wondering how he was playing the game and talking on the phone at the same time; belatedly, she realized that Swifty had gotten a new headset for his phone. "Oh, great," she muttered between chews.

"Yeah," agreed Skittery with a resigned sigh.

"All right," Jack said, clapping his hands. "It's five after ten. We have ourselves a meeting in the cubice, boys. Off the phone, Swifts. You're girlfriend ain't coming to the meeting. 'Ey Mush, Blink!" he hollered, calling the Web interns stationed in the main section of the Lab. "You guys can come, too."

* * *

The meeting lasted longer than usual, going just past an hour and a half. Immediately after Jack wrapped up, Peg picked up her notes and bounded out of her seat to get back to her desk.

"Where're you hopping off to?" Jack asked, curious. Peg was normally the first to get back to work after the meetings, but her abnormally anxious rush signaled something important.

She apologized. "I have a couple of things to get done before the Luncheon at noon."

His ears perked at the mention of a luncheon and the possibility of free food. "What Luncheon? There's a Luncheon?"

"Yeah, you know. The Luncheon Series Jonathan is hosting every week—the CCLS."

"What did that stand for again?" Race questioned, tapping his temple. He vaguely remembered Jonathan mentioning that at the Intern Orientation.

"Company Class Lecture Series," Mush supplied.

"Oh, yeah."

"Stress and Snoddy are presenting for Editorial today," Peg informed. "Can you believe Jonathan sent Stress 15 pages of notes to include in the presentation?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Guy's got nothing better to do with Pulitzer on vacation this week."

"Well, it's got Stress completely worried."

"Why?" Blink asked, not yet learned in Jonathan's ways.

"Because," Jack began, "if he's not happy with what he sees, they're going to get called into his office. And you don't want to get called into his office. Trust me."

"Yeah, we've been there when he found out it was us that set up that train of dominos from his office to the bathroom and back that one time. Lemme tell ya, when Pulitzer's not in the building, Jonathan loves to hear himself talk and pace around like he's the authority around here. That hour was the most brain pain I'd ever endured in my life," said Swifty.

"And he's dating Stacy, so that's saying a lot," Skittery offered.

"Shut up," Swifty retaliated as the others tried lamely to hide their chortles. "Why are you here anyway? Don't you have work to do?"

"We're done, right? It's okay if I go?" asked Peg.

"Yeah! Yeah, go ahead," Jack said. He sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Tell Stress I said good luck."

The comment elicited a giddy grin. She responded with a "sure thing," and left.

"You guys have to go to the Luncheon, too?" Swifty asked, directing his question at the interns.

"Yup," Mush replied.

Then he asked what everyone else was pondering. "You know if there's going to be free food?"

"Don't think so. The e-mail from Jonathan said we should bring our lunches down to the cafeteria."

"Well, now there ain't no point in goin'," Race said, disappointed.

Mush peeked at his watch and sighed resignedly. "Guess we should get going, too," he said, prodding Kid Blink. "I've got to finish that last batch of graphics before lunch."

Grinning, Blink deepened his voice and with a gravely tone said, "Because if you don't put the work in, you'll be fired." It was a pitch-perfect imitation of Pulitzer.

The guys laughed. Reluctantly, they pushed back from the conference table, stretched and stood from their chairs. It was time to get back to their cubicles and work.

Jack didn't move. "Wait."

The boys stopped mid-motion.

"Say that again," he said to Blink. "Your Pulitzer impression."

Blink cleared his throat dramatically. "Because if you don't put the work in, you'll be fired," he repeated, in exactly the same way Pulitzer had said at the Intern Orientation. "Why, when I was your age, I was already a Captain in the war!" Blink added, to continued laughter from the other guys.

Jack stared at him admirably while still rubbing his chin. "Can you say anything else in that voice?"

"Haven't tried it before," Blink said normally. He cleared his throat again, stretched his mouth up and down a couple of times, and loosened his lips. "I think I can," he said in Pulitzer's voice. "Jonathan, Seitz! What is this crap?" Blink tried. "Testing. 1, 2, 3. Ponies, parchment, Xerox. Where the hell is my bagel and coffee? Jonathan!" he further tested, adjusting the intonation and inserting Pulitzer's trademark guttural, clicking sounds as he went along.

"That's brilliant. _That is brilliant_," Jack said, leaning forward in his seat.

Race, Swifty, and Skittery immediately recognized the glint in Jack's eyes. It was the same mischievous glint he had when they planned "Operation: Ketchup" and "Operation: Dominos," which unfortunately had been the one where they got caught. It had been a while since Jack had had that look—honestly, the boys had been getting worried. The three guys looked at each other for a keyed up moment before rushing back to their seats, huddling around Jack's notepad.

Mush and Blink still stood by the door without a clue. Jack waved them over.

"You guys are about to become initiated into Team Giant Slayers," Jack explained proudly.

"Team—Team Giant Slayers? What's that?" Mush asked.

"Only the best prank team in all of Pulitzer Publishing," said Race.

"With a jaw-dropping fifty percent success rate," Skittery added wryly. "But all the other teams are still at zero."

"Awesome, I'm in," Blink said, nodding with uncontained excitement. "So, who are we targeting?"

* * *

_Noon. Cafeteria_

The cafeteria was usually fitted with four-seater rectangular tables, with two-seater squares lined along the walls. There was a slight retro feel to the place, with its black-and-white tiled floor, polished milky tables, and bright red seats. Today, the tables were pushed back with two chairs positioned at each, facing the "front."

It looked like a classroom out of a Tim Burton movie.

Pegasus found Adren waving from across the cafeteria, indicating the empty seat next to her. Peg started to hasten her step, but put on the brakes when she saw Jonathan strolling in from the opposite way, followed by a young woman whom Peg assumed was the new Assistant Jack had been talking about. They took the seats directly in front of Adren.

Peg sat down next to Adren, who then introduced her to two of her friends from Human Resources, Corky and Polaroid. Corky, as an employee, wasn't obligated to attend the CCLS, but she eagerly decided to tag along so she could learn more about the publishing industry and the company.

It wasn't long before Snoddy strutted into the cafeteria with the intern Jake on his heels. A reluctant-looking Stress entered soon after, discreetly holding onto her index cards.

With the two Editors now in front of the room, Jonathan rose from his chair and _ahem_'d to gather everyone's attention.

"Welcome, interns, to the first of Pulitzer Publishing's Company Class Lecture Series! As you all know, this is the first time we at Pulitzer Publishing are hosting a weekly event like this. Just as a little refresher, because I'm sure you all read my e-mails, the CCLS is a weekly speaker series. Each week will feature representatives from a different department.

To commence our new series, we have Mr. Snoddy and Miss Stress, two dazzling Editors from our famous Editorial department. Why don't I let them introduce themselves?" Jonathan turned to the two Editors. "I turn it over to you now," he said meaningfully.

For a moment, worry flashed across Stress' features. Snoddy, however, smiled brightly, clapped his hands, and took center stage with overflowing confidence. That confidence was sometimes annoying and always baffling, but today it was miraculously comforting. Stress stood a little straighter and thought, _Maybe we can pull this off. Maybe we can go through the crazy syllabus, if Snoddy just doesn't talk about—_

"Show of hands, guys: how many of you have heard of Pi Kappa Alpha?"

_—that_. Stress caught herself from shrinking under the table.

A couple of hands went up. "Awesome, awesome," Snoddy said, nodding his head with satisfaction. "You guys rock. Anyway, my name's Snoddy and I'm an Editor here. First things first, a round of high fives go out to all of you new interns. Some of you may not know, but I'm Pi Kappa Alpha myself, and so is my buddy over there—you the man, Jake!—and that we're here at Pulitzer Publishing shows how prestigious this company is. Us Pi Kappa Alpha only go to the best of the best, so congrats to all of you for making it here with us." He gestured towards Stress. "This here's Stress, fellow Editor. She's not Pi Kappa Alpha, but she's still pretty awesome."

Stress gave a small wave and was just about to introduce herself when an electronic melody interrupted.

Jonathan jumped, reaching for his pockets. He yanked out his phone and, noting that it was an unknown call and therefore definitely not Mr. Pulitzer, immediately shut it off. He laughed, a nervous sound. "I thought I put it on vibrate," he said contritely. "Please continue."

Stress nodded. "Hi everyone, I'm Stress—"

A muffled _ring ring!_ stopped her again. Heads turned towards the sound, which came again from Jonathan's direction. But it was Acorn who started this time. Ignoring the irritated look from Jonathan, she took a look at her ringing phone. A private number. Acorn thought she ought to take the call in case it was important. Sending the two Editors an apologetic glance, she rushed out of the cafeteria.

Jonathan shook his head. He would have to have a word with his Assistant later. "Please continue," he repeated.

But Stress didn't have the chance to do so, for Acorn reentered the room, wearing a puzzled expression. She held out the phone to Jonathan.

"I'm afraid you have to take this call right now," she said in a low voice.

"Who is it?" Jonathan snapped.

"It's Mr. Pulitzer."

Jonathan jumped from his seat in a moment of panic, snatching Acorn's phone from her hands. Pressing the phone to his ear with a meek "Mr. Pulitzer, how is your trip so far," he intended to leave the cafeteria for privacy, but froze on the spot instead.

"Yes, sir. Why, the CCLS, of course. But—what about…um, the latest Sparks, if I remember correctly. Uh, I'm sorry, Mr. Pulitzer, I'm not quite sure I heard you correctly."

A heated blast of a response sounded from the phone.

"Y-yes, yes. But what about the CCLS? No, no, of course not. Yes, sir." Still clutching the phone to his ear, Jonathan slowly moved to the front of the room, standing uncertainly in front of Snoddy and Stress and facing the perplexed interns.

"May I have your attention for a moment, please," he announced. "I'd like to commence a discussion about the, um… the latest Nicholas Sparks novel. I'm sure many of you are familiar with Nicholas Sparks?"

Behind him, Snoddy frowned and shook his head. "Not cool, man." He turned to Stress and shrugged his shoulders disbelievingly. "What's he doing?"

Stress was just as lost as everyone else in the room as Jonathan launched into a summary of the newest Nicholas Sparks book. He had been making such a big fuss about the luncheon since the beginning of the summer, that Stress found it strange he would commence a book club discussion right now, of all times. If that wasn't strange enough, after he skimmed through the plot of the book, he began to _tap dance out of the blue_. (To everyone's surprise, he was actually very good). If that still wasn't strange enough, Jonathan had kept talking into the phone the entire time, until he, mercifully, let everyone get back to work.

Jonathan, flustered and red in the face, tossed the phone back to his Assistant and quickly disappeared. As the interns dispersed, murmuring in confusion, amusement, and awe, Stress met up with Peg and Adren.

Completely bewildered, she asked, "_What just happened?_"

* * *

"You guys are about to become initiated into Team Giant Slayers," Jack explained proudly.

"Team—Team Giant Slayers? What's that?" Mush asked.

"Only the best prank team in all of Pulitzer Publishing," said Race.

"With a jaw-dropping fifty percent success rate," Skittery added wryly. "But all the other teams are still at zero, so I guess that makes us the best."

"Awesome, I'm in," Blink said, nodding with uncontained excitement. "So, who are we targeting?"

"All the official prank teams in the building have one target and one target only," said Swifty.

The interns ventured an educated guess. "Jonathan."

"Right."

Race wanted to get right down to business. "What's the operation?"

Jack scrawled the answer across the top of the page: "Operation: Rescue Editorial."

"Ah," said Swifty, "A.K.A. 'Sabotage Jonathan's Precious CLCS,' or whatever it's called. Brilliant. I'm in."

He outlined the plan and handed out assignments. "Skitts, we need you on your laptop. Swifty, get your phone and your new Bluetooth. Mush, you're going to be our eyes. Race, you and me are going to make good use of that screenwriting class we took Junior year. And Blink, get those pretty lips of yours ready. We're meeting in five on the third floor, conference room six."

Jack gathered the boys into a huddle. Putting their hands together in the center, they cheered, "Giant Slayers, hoohah!" The boys became a blur of movement as they went to make preparations.

Located at the far end of the hall, conference room six was the smallest of all the rooms on the third floor. The room looked like an ordinary conference room, of course, with the horseshoe set-up of the white spectrum tables, comfortable wheeled chairs, a dry erase board on the north wall, and a projector in the back of the room as well the accompanying projector screen. It was the perfect place to play out the Giant Slayers operations.

Skittery hurried into the conference room with a black, bulky laptop, flipped open the screen and rapidly went to work. Swifty returned with his phone and began fitting Mush with the headset, making sure it was as inconspicuous as possible. Race came back with notepads, an unlabeled spray bottle, extra markers and erasers for the dry erase board in the room, and Blink entered with his water bottle. With the team reassembled, Jack closed the door and drew shut the blinds that looked out to the empty hallway.

"All right, boys, here's the deal. Our boy Jonathan is a complete sucker when it comes to this guy, so we have our work cut out for us today. Skitts, you in the system yet? Whaddya got for me?" Jack asked as Race handed out notepads to everyone. The two then took their positions in the front of the room.

"Pulling up Jonathan's cell phone number." Skittery grabbed his own phone from his bag and hooked it up to the laptop with a long USB cable. He had to fiddle with the phone system and mask his number so it didn't get caught by the call recipient's caller ID.

"But, isn't that illegal?" Blink asked as he watched Skittery hack into company files.

"How else are we supposed to get Jonathan's number?" Race said as though the question were a silly one.

"All right. Swifts, Mush, you guys ready?"

"Yep. Mush has got my headset." Swifty dialed Mush's phone number on his own phone. Mush picked up and they tested the sound. He gave Swifty a thumbs up. "Sound test complete. We're good."

"Good. It's almost noon. Mush, you can start heading down to the cafeteria. Let us know when the show begins. We're counting on you for the play-by-play," Jack said with a wink.

Mush saluted with a wide grin and left the room.  
They waited for Mush's go-ahead. Jack kneaded Blink's shoulders as Blink stretched out his lips and cheeks. Race tapped his foot impatiently while Swifty tapped his fingers on the table, staring at his phone. A few minutes passed in waiting silence.

The phone buzzed. Swifty answered quickly and listened. Mush was on the scene.

"Jonathan just came into the cafeteria," Swifty informed the others. After a few moments: "He's with a really pretty blond girl."

"Must be his assistant," said Jack.

"He's presenting the Editors," Swifty relayed.

"Blink," Jack called finally. "Skitts is going to call Jonathan's phone from his laptop. Here's the phone," he said, handing Blink Skittery's phone connected to the laptop. "Me and Race are going to write your lines, so keep an eye on the board here. Ready?"

Blink took a gulp of water, gurgled, and nodded.

Skittery programmed the phone to speaker mode and initiated the call. The room went silent as the phone rang. Swifty frowned as he listened to Mush's report.

"Jonathan's not taking the bait," he said.

"Damn it," Race muttered.

"Skitts, can you pull up the phone number for a Miss Acorn? That's his assistant's," Jack said.

In a matter of seconds, Skittery found the number and dialed. Jack readied himself at the board as the phone started ringing again.

"_Hello?_" came a feminine voice.

Acorn had picked up! Blink watch Jack rapidly scribble on the board.

"Miss Acorn! How do you do? Where the hell is Jonathan?" Blink exclaimed gruffly.

"_Mr. Pulitzer? Um, Jonathan's attending the Company Class Lecture Series right now. Would you like to speak with him?_"

"Why on earth else would I be calling?"

"Right, of course. One moment, please."

Swifty gave a thumbs up as Mush reported Acorn's reentrance.

"_Mr. Pulitzer!_" squeaked Jonathan's voice. "_How is your trip so far?_"

"Nevermind my trip! Stop everything you're doing at once."

"_Yes, sir._"

"Now, what the hell is going on over there?"

"_Why, the CCLS, of course._"

"Goddamit, Jonathan, this isn't the time to be slacking off and putting on meaningless shows for vacant children."

"_But—what about…_"

"I say, Jonathan, what was the last book you read?"

"_Um, the latest Sparks, if I remember correctly._"

Jack and Race raised their brows while Swifty jotted a message on his notepad: "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"Sparks? Fine, fine then. Let me show you something. I want you to tell those vacant children what this Sparks book was about."

"_Uh, I'm sorry, Mr. Pulitzer, I'm not quite sure I understand._"

"There isn't anything to understand, you nitwit!"

"_Y-yes, yes. But what about the CCLS?_"

"I am the founder of this company!" Blink roared. "Do not question my authority."

"_No, no, of course not. Yes, sir."_

The Giant Slayers only half-listened to Jonathan prattle on about Sparks' "most poignant and heartbreaking story yet." Skittery raised his notepad with a message to get Jack and Race's attention: "Look what I found."

The two boys momentarily relieved their posts to gather around Skittery's laptop. He had been scavenging through the company's system and found, in the Human Resources directory, Jonathan's original application for the Assistant position. Skittery scrolled down and pointed to the Special Skills section of his resume.

"Tap dancing?" Jack read, suppressing a laugh. "We gotta see that." Going back to the board, Jack began writing Blink's next set of lines.

"That's enough blithering! Now look at those interns of yours. I'm willing to bet half of them are asleep," Blink said.

"Mush, start snoring," Swifty directed.

"_But, Mr. Pulitzer, you told me before to—_"

"Nevermind what I told you _before_. We need to look to the future. Now wake them up, wake them up! I don't put up with those hoodlums you call interns so they could sleep in my building!"

"_Right away, Mr. Pulitzer._" The boys heard Jonathan calling out to the interns. "_All right, we can end our discussion here—_"

"What is _that?_ Get them up and wide awake to work! Shout, stomp your feet—do your tap dance routine!" Blink shouted, waving his arms wildly for effect.

"_My tap dance routine?_" There was a long pause on the other line. The Giant Slayers became anxious, wondering if they aroused Jonathan's suspicions. Finally, he said, almost tearfully, "_Mr. Pulitzer, you remembered. I can't believe you remembered that I tapped. I thought you had forgotten when you didn't attend my tap school's show last month. But… you're right, sir: we mustn't dwell on the past! It would be my absolute honor to perform my routine at your request._"

Five minutes after Jonathan hastily dismissed the interns, arrived a text message from Mush to Swifty. Attached to it was a video Mush took of Jonathan's routine, including the standing ovation he received and his bashful reaction. Mush's message read: "Gotta hand it to him. He actually got some nice footwork."

After watching the impressive performance, the Giant Slayers couldn't agree more.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ It lives!

I apologize for the sparse updates. It's been a while since I've sat down to write so this chapter feels a bit rusty, but hopefully there were still some fun moments in there.

Snoddy-style high fives go out to Acorn, Adren, Corky, Eavis, Song For A Rainy Day, and Stress—thank you so much for taking the time to review the last chapter!


	9. Beverly Persimmons

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Newsies. All other characters belong to their respective creators.

* * *

**Chapter 09.  
Beverly Persimmons**

_Let the countdown begin!_

With a bright pink highlighter, Corky happily circled _Friday_ three times on her calendar. As an afterthought, she opened her drawer, pulled out a sheet of glittering stickers, peeled a few off and stuck them on the calendar, too. She leaned back in her seat to take a good look at her creation. Satisfied with the celebratory art, she tossed her stickers back in her drawer and went back to real work.

It was only ten, but Corky had already been hard at work for the past hour and a half, having come in earlier than usual. There was a lot to be done this week: filing applications and paperwork, updating the database, handling new job postings. Corky was determined to get them all done before Friday.

Despite having only been at Pulitzer Publishing for several weeks, Corky loved it. She actually enjoyed coming into work in the mornings—and Corky was by no means a morning person. She was learning a lot on the job, she had an awesome office buddy in Polaroid, and, of course—she glanced over to his cubicle—there was him.

A shared laughter outside the office doors cut through her thoughts. Corky spied Polaroid coming into work (interns came in at ten) with a bright-eyed look on her face. At her elbow was a tanned boy with smooth black hair, smiling back at her. Corky recognized him instantly, of course, considering all the visits he had been making to the office lately: Bumlets, the Finance intern who had saved Polaroid from interning in Finance and Accounting rather than her first choice with Human Resources.

Bumlets left with some polite parting words. They waved as they separated and Polaroid walked into the office and to her desk. She and Corky traded merry _Good Morning_'s.

Corky grinned at her knowingly. "There's something interesting going on between you two," she sang, raising her brows towards the door where Bumlets had just been.

Polaroid promptly turned a shade of red. "Who, Bumlets and me?" she asked, self-conscious. "We're just… in the same dance class," she assured.

"Mm-hmm—wait, you decided to take the dance class?"

Polaroid nodded, biting her lip in a bid to contain her excitement.

"That's amazing! I'm so glad you decided to go!"

"Me, too," Polaroid said.

Corky held her chin thoughtfully. "And that's how you guys became so close, is it?" She added mischievously, "Was there partnering involved in your dance class?"

"Corky!" Polaroid whispered, trying to urge her friend to lower her voice. "Really, we're just friends!"

"And he just walked you down the hall. I repeat: down the _hall_."

"He's a considerate guy," said Polaroid, modestly downplaying Corky's observations.

Corky knew there was more to it than Polaroid believed. With time, she reckoned Polaroid would realize her relationship with Bumlets for what it was: a young, blooming love. Corky sighed dreamily.

Dutchy's voice brought her back to reality and reminded her of the thoughts she was having before they got sidetracked. Directing her gaze towards his cubicle again, Corky spotted the top of his perfect and fair hair over the panels. She decided those panels were a terrible tease—if she were to be absolutely honest with herself, Corky wished they were just a little, just _slightly_, lower so she could at least see his bespectacled blue eyes. She didn't know why it mattered to her whether she could see him from her position. Corky supposed she liked to know when he was in the office so she could ask him questions about work.

"Spill the beans, man. Did you talk to that girl at the bar after I left?" she heard Dutchy asking Pie.

"No," his friend answered sullenly.

Dutchy groaned in disbelief. "You asked me to set you up, I set you up, and you didn't even ask for her favorite color?"

"That's a stupid question. And you're a terrible wingman!" Pie insisted.

"I'm better than Skittery."

"That just goes without saying."

Dutchy shook his head. "I just can't leave you alone with a girl, can I?" he muttered.

Corky held back her laughter. Then, she shook her head as though, like an etch-a-sketch, it would help clear her mind. She was supposed to be working on the spreadsheet, not daydreaming and accidentally eavesdropping on people's conversations. Sitting up and setting her fingers on the keyboard, Corky began to pick up from where she left off.

She didn't make it two lines into the spreadsheet before she found her mind ambling back to his cubicle again. _This is ridiculous_, Corky thought in regards to her inability to focus today. She had firmly set a deadline for herself and had been doing well staying on track for the past hour and a half. There was Friday to look forward to, she reminded herself. Focus on the spreadsheet.

_Spreadsheet._

_Spreadshee—_

—She had to admit, she was proud to have been able to focus for this long even, considering her awful tendency of getting easily distracted by boring work. And this spreadsheet—if there was ever something that exemplified boring work, it was right here. Maybe it was time for a little break. She deserved it, right?

Yes. Yes, she did deserve it. It was a milestone, having been able to work on this snore-inducing assignment for over an hour! Why shouldn't she bask in the glowing rays of this achievement? Corky leaned back in her seat as she sought something or someone to take her break with. Looking to her right, she saw Polaroid already getting started on her daily tasks. Looking to her left…

She searched for an excuse to go talk to him. After all, it would be awkward for her to walk all the way up to his cubicle just to say "hi" and leave. A reason was essential. Corky racked her brain for a creative and believable excuse and, when she came up with nothing, she started rummaging through her drawers. _Ah-ha!_ Corky thought in triumph, _no more paper clips!_

With a reason to visit in place, she pushed away from her desk and rose to her feet.

As Corky got up from her seat, she saw Dutchy leap up from his. An ecstatic grin spread on his boyish features, Dutchy's gaze was aimed at the door when he exclaimed, "Beverly!"

Corky's face fell. Her shoulders stiffened and her eyes opened wide in surprise: she recognized the name in an instant. It took a few moments to sink in, but when she was sure that what she heard was, in fact, what she heard, Corky turned—ever so slowly—towards the door.

There, standing just inside the door jambs, was Beverly Simmons.

* * *

_Two Weeks Before…_

Having finished her lunch, Corky strolled back into the Human Resources office precisely at one o'clock. A pile of paperwork was, unfortunately, sitting on her desk and calling her name to be digitally filed into the computer and physically filed into the drawers. Corky plopped down into her seat and, narrowing her eyes, considered the adversary on her desk.

It would take her hours to get through this stack.

She sighed and reluctantly grabbed the first form from the pile. Waking up her sleeping computer monitor, she opened up the program and set her mind to work mode.

But then in strode Dutchy and Pie, returning to the office from their weekly Big Boy's lunch with Executive Editor Kloppman and friends. Dutchy, seemingly reluctant to return to his work, veered from the path to his desk and made a friendly stop at Corky and Polaroid's shared cubicle. Unfortunately, his presence caused Corky's inner timer to snap backwards from "Work Mode" to "Play Mode."

He grinned that boyish grin of his. "Hey, all aboard the _Polaroid_ Express!" he announced like he was a real train conductor, waving his hand with a "come-on-in" flick of the elbow. "Haha, get it?"

Corky could hear Pie smacking his forehead.

Polaroid chuckled politely at Dutchy's newest play on her nickname while Corky actually slapped her knee in the process of giggling. He was so cheesy sometimes. She thought it was adorable.

"Afternoon, Miss Quirky Corky. Hey, try saying that five times fast: QuirkyCorkyQuirkyQuarkyKirky—aw, man."

She cleared her throat to try. "QuirkyCorkyQuirkyQuirky…"

"Not so easy, is it?" he teased. He wrinkled his nose when he saw the stack of paperwork in front of Corky. "I don't envy you," he said, shaking his head. "Another exciting day in HR, right?"

Corky sighed and stared at him over her glasses. "I'm so excited… and I just can't hide it," she recited monotonously.

It was Dutchy's turn to laugh, but he swallowed back the sound when someone from behind him called his attention.

"Excuse me. Hi. I'm looking for, um… Irish Flare? I have an appointment with her this afternoon." A young woman stood outside the door to the office. With wavy chocolate hair and dark eyes under dramatic lashes, she seemed to have cast a spell on the males in the office. Pie Eater had actually stood from his seat. He stared at the new girl with a slackened jaw and hypnotized eyes. Dutchy seemed like he was going to crack up laughing at his friend's face, but then he directed his attention at the girl and followed Pie's lead.

Thankfully, Irish Flare appeared, stepping out of her office. She stopped short when she saw the two boys standing and staring from either side of the room at a single point. She frowned at their lack of professionalism at the moment and approached the young woman with an apologetic look.

"Hi. Beverly, right? I'm Irish Flare. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Oh, hi! No problem at all, it's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," said Irish warmly.

"Nice to meet you," said Dutchy, sticking himself into the exchange. "I go by Dutchy around here."

Sensing Dutchy's initiative and not being one to be outdone, Pie sprang into movement and jumped into the conversation as well. "Hello, my name is Pie Eater," he introduced, shaking her hand heartily. "But everyone calls me Pie."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Beverly Simmons," the girl greeted with a beaming smile, though there was a hint of confusion in her eyes, which may have had to do with either the sudden attention from the two HR boys or the strange names in the office. "I love your names," she ventured. "They're so cute." Perhaps it was the latter, then.

Dutchy appeared touched, bringing his hand to his heart. "That's so sweet," he said.

"Nicknames are an old tradition we have in this company," Irish explained.

"_Oh_, I see. How fun!" said Beverly.

"Do you have a nickname, by any chance?" Pie asked.

"Um, no I don't, unfortunately," she replied politely.

"That's all right," Irish cut in before either of the boys could speak. Beverly was here for an interview, and Irish was trying to close off the unexpected conversation so they could move to the conference room and commence the interview as scheduled. "Some people choose to go by their given names," she reassured. "Our meeting is going to be in the—"

"Like who?" Dutchy demanded.

Irish gave him a sharp look. "Like David," she answered.

"Oh, that's right. David's his real name," Dutchy pondered to himself.

"Maybe we should think up a nickname for you!" Pie exclaimed.

Justine was going to be fuming if she found Irish and the others just standing around in the office. Irish tried to be subtle. "That's… an idea. It's up to Beverly to decide, though—_later_."

"Beverly Simmons, right?" Dutchy began, blatantly ignoring Irish's hint, "Like Beverly _Per_simmons?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dutchy actually seemed embarrassed. "Get it? 'Cause… I said, you were sweet before. Sweet like persimmons," he mumbled.

Pie gaped at Dutchy's lame attempt at creating a nickname.

"_Okay_," Irish rallied, glad that the boys ran out of things to say at last. Facing Beverly, she finally said, "I'll show you to the conference room."

When the two girls left the office, Pie turned to Dutchy. "_Beverly Persimmons? Because you're so sweet?_" he repeated, dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't think straight!"

"I'm never going to get any girls with you as my wingman," Pie muttered, heading back to his desk.

"Uh, what? How was I the wingman here? She was talking to _me_."

"_I_ saw her first," Pie countered.

"She asked _me _for Irish."

"That was a question open to the floor."

The bantering continued for a good ten minutes, died down, then gradually started up again when Irish came back to the office an hour later.

Pie shot up from his seat and leaned over the cubicle wall, addressing Irish as she walked in. "So, is Beverly a potential employee?"

Irish didn't halt her stride as she answered, "Yes."

"Are we hiring her?"

"We don't know yet. There are still two more candidates to interview."

"For which department?"

"Sales."

"I think we should hire her," Dutchy piped in.

"_I_ think we should hire her," said Pie.

Irish glanced in Corky's direction, and with an exasperated look, mouthed, "_Boys._" To Dutchy and Pie, she pleaded, "Do the office a favor and don't ogle our candidates like wolves next time. It's embarrassing."

"Who was ogling?" Pie asked, oblivious.

"You guys! With your… persimmons!" In a hushed tone, she added, "If Justine saw you two, you know she would have had you written up."

That quickly shut the boys' mouths and, hoping she got through to the pair, Irish disappeared into her office.

"I told you the persimmons thing was stupid," Pie grumbled.

* * *

_And now Beverly Simmons is back_, Corky thought unhappily. _Why is she back?_

"I heard you're an official employee of Pulitzer Publishing now. Welcome!" Pie announced.

Well, that answered her question.

"Thank you," she said brightly. "I'm so happy to be here!"

"We're so happy to have you with us," Dutchy returned, ignoring Pie's pointed glimpse. "First day jitters?"

And just like the first time, Irish emerged in the nick of time, breaking up the fan-like adoration from the two HR boys. She formally welcomed Beverly to the company and invited the new employee into her office to fill out employment paperwork. Despite their previous quibbling, Pie and Dutchy exchanged overly excited looks.

Corky couldn't understand, really, why she was feeling the way she was. When Beverly Simmons walked into the office the first time, Corky found herself… upset. And now, the second time around, it was the same story. It was odd, especially because she hardly ever became upset with anything or anyone. Even stranger, she found herself trying to distract herself from the happenings in the office by working—usually it was the other way around. Fixing her glasses, she went back to updating the spreadsheet.

She worked for nearly another hour before Irish's door opened, with the Human Resources Assistant and Beverly stepping out of the office.

"… and you should be good to go. I'm going to give the Sales Manager, Toby, a call before we head up to their floor. You remember Toby, right?"

"The one with all the candy on his desk?"

"Right. Oh," Irish added as an afterthought, "I better give IT a ring, too, so he could help you log into the network."

"Leave it to me, Miss Irish Flare!" Dutchy said, bounding from his seat, waving his raised hand as though someone asked for a volunteer. "I'll be a right tour guide and show Beverly to the Lab and to Sales."

Irish paused. "I don't know if that's necessary…"

"Me too!" Pie Eater chirped. "And, as an all-around nice guy, I'll even throw in a tour of the company," he said, pleased with himself for having thought of the idea before Dutchy did.

"That would be nice," Beverly admitted. "I've already gotten lost a couple of times."

"Perfect!" Dutchy gestured Beverly towards the door.

Irish hesitated; she wasn't sure if she wanted to leave Beverly alone with Dutchy and Pie as her hosts. Plus, she realized belatedly, Irish had wanted a reason to call IT. She hadn't seen or heard from Skittery in a while. It was a little silly, she knew, to need to have a reason to call a friend. But, still, something about him, their relationship, had changed, and she couldn't help but treat the matter as delicately and as casually as possible.

"Don't worry about it, I'll keep an eye on him," Dutchy suddenly whispered to Irish, tilting his head in Pie's direction. _What was he talking about?_ Irish wondered, puzzled. _She was more worried about _him_ than about Pie_.

Before Irish could argue, Pie and Dutchy swept Beverly out of the HR office, with Pie chattering away excitedly, leaving a worried Irish, an anxious Corky, and a neutral Polaroid.

* * *

_The Lab  
_

"This here is the Lab," Pie introduced when the trio stepped in through the glass doors. Unfortunately, there wasn't much going on in the Lab, being that many of the designers were congregating in meetings that afternoon. Pie led the group to the IT corner on the opposite side of the room. "And this is Skittery, the IT department."

"There's only one person in IT?" Beverly asked Pie.

"Just me and my interns," Skittery answered. "Long story," he said when she was about to ask why. "What do you want?" he asked the two HR boys, wary of another prank.

Dutchy made a face at Skittery's sour mood before introducing Beverly and explaining that she needed an account set up in the Sales department. Skittery wordlessly closed out of Solitaire and obliged, opening up his database program. In the meanwhile, Dutchy and Pie made a circle around the Lab, introducing Beverly to some of their friends.

"These guys here are our summer interns, Mush and Kid Blink, two of the nicest guys you'll ever meet," Pie presented. Then they proceeded to the Web Corner, at which point Mush felt it safe to nudge Blink and, eyeing Beverly Simmons, say, "I'm in heaven."

Before Pie could introduce the Web team, Jack came forward as he eagerly walked out of Weasel's cluttered office. He rolled his eyes as he shut the Weasel's door behind him. "Haven't seen you two up here in a while," he said upon seeing his HR pals. "Who's this?" he asked with a charismatic smile.

"Beverly Simmons," she introduced. "I'm a new Associate in the Sales department."

"Jack Kelly," he said, shaking her hand.

By the way she giggled, it was clear Jack's inexplicable charm had found yet another victim.

"Hey, it's noon—what do you say to going down to the cafeteria and getting some lunch while Skittery there works on creating an account for you?" Pie asked. Skittery sent him a deadpan stare.

Beverly was pleasantly surprised. "There's a cafeteria in the building?"

"Sure is! With decent food, too," added Dutchy.

"That sounds great," she agreed. "Maybe… Jack would like to join us?"

Neither Dutchy nor Jack anticipated that invite. Dutchy frowned while the Web Producer flashed another congenial smile. "Sounds good to me. I'm starving."

Pegasus had watched the conversation closely from her desk. Chewing slowly on her PB&J, she zoned in on Jack and sent him her best, most intimidating, glare.

When Jack saw her staring at him in that strange way, he raised a brow. "What?"

She just shook her head, slowly, from side to side. Not knowing what to make of that response, Jack simply chuckled before grabbing his wallet and leaving the Lab with the trio. Peg put her sandwich down and, signing into her instant message program, began to type a message. She wrote:

**ImaPirate20:** You better keep your man in check.

Stress answered with:

**curiouserx2:** My what?

**ImaPirate20:** Your you-know-who! Yet another lady from Sales just asked him to lunch. And being the way-too-sociable guy he is, he just went, "Teeheehee, okay!"

The hesitation on Stress' part was palpable.

**curiouserx2:** What can I do about it? I can't just go up to him and tell him not to have lunch with certain girls from Sales.

**curiouserx2:** Even though I'd like to.

**curiouserx2:** Is there an undo button on this thing? I can't believe I just typed that.

**ImaPirate20:** Why not? Go show him who's boss. ;)

**ImaPirate20:** He's going to the cafeteria downstairs right now.

**ImaPirate20:** The boys here won't stop talking about how they made Jonathan tap dance. You should go thank him for saving you from that CCLS thing. :)

* * *

_Cafeteria_

Well, Stress actually made it down to the cafeteria. She couldn't help herself; Peg's news had sparked her curiosity.

Jack's outing with other employees was not something new, of course. If the company had a title for Most Popular Employee, without question, it belonged to Jack Kelly. He was friends or on friendly terms with almost everyone in Pulitzer Publishing—with the exception of some people he chose to avoid, like Weasel and Jonathan, for obvious reasons.

The thing was, Jack's popularity made him—as cheesy as it sounds—popular with the ladies, too. And lately, Peg reported an increased spike in the number of girls casually gliding into the Lab to talk to Jack. No doubt this was because of rumors circulating about Jack's new bachelor status. News traveled fast in this company, especially when it had to do with the Most Popular Employee.

Stress usually took her meals in the seventh floor dining room rather than the cafeteria, so when David Jacobs spotted her sitting at a corner table by herself, steadily sipping on her soft drink, he called out her name in surprise.

"Stress! What're you doing down here?" he greeted cheerily.

Startled from her thoughts, Stress almost choked on her drink. "Shh!" she hushed urgently, gesturing at him to keep his head low. Without realizing it, David found himself crouching over as he approached her table and sat down.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking about the cafeteria, figuring, by her reaction, that they were hiding from someone.

Stress dwelled on the question, realizing she almost gave herself away. "Nothing," she answered, laughing nervously. She picked up a french fry and started nibbling on it. "What's new with you?"

"Nothing much. I'm just here to spy on Jack."

"_You, too?_ I mean," Stress amended, trying to de-emphasize her surprise, "you are?"

"Yeah. As a favor to Sarah."

"Oh." She wasn't expecting to hear that either. So Jack and Sarah Jacobs were still seeing each other? Did that mean there was no merit whatsoever to the rumors going around? She tried to craft her next words as casually as possible, but unfortunately, there was no other way to go about it than, "I heard Jack wasn't seeing anyone now."

David sighed. "It's true."

Okay, now Stress was confused.

"He and Sarah didn't really break up, though," he explained. "They're just taking a break, whatever that means. Sarah's been so busy with grad school and Jack's working here. They just rarely see each other anymore."

"Sarah's not back in New York?"

David shook his head. "She took up a summer TA position for one of her former professors in Boston."

"Oh, I see. So there's still hope?" she asked, a little too earnestly. She was thinking there might still be hope for all the Jack fangirls in the company.

"What?"

Stress could have kicked herself. "I meant, so there's still hope that it could still work out between them?"

"I guess. Even though she thinks it's for the best, Sarah's still upset about it. I think that's why she asked me to watch over Jack. She's hoping they can still work it out and wants me to ward off any girl that comes up to him," he said, chuckling. At that moment, David's and Stress' eyes wandered over to the table with Pie Eater, Dutchy, the Sales girl and, the subject of their interests, Jack.

On the other side of the cafeteria, Corky slurped her Mountain Dew nervously, her sights fixed on Beverly Simmons. It wasn't like she planned to be down at the cafeteria at the same time they were—she was sitting here with Polaroid before they walked in.

But she was kind of glad for the coincidence. It gave her a chance to try and sort out her thoughts. What was it about this Beverly Simmons that bothered her so much? She seemed like a nice person: polite, cheery. Corky just couldn't pinpoint what it was about her. No one else seemed to have any problem with Beverly Simmons. Irish Flare and Pie Eater and Dutchy liked her.

Weird, there it was again. That odd feeling.

She saw Dutchy smiling and nudging Pie in the ribs. He was such a nice guy—smart, humorous, friendly. She was so lucky to have bumped into him on the day of her interview. His cheesy nicknaming never failed to make her laugh. And he was always willing to lend a helping hand. Whenever Corky was having trouble with something at work, she knew she could depend on him to come to her aid. Dutchy had so much positive energy and was just a lot of fun to be around.

He said something, then, and it must have been something funny for everyone at their table started laughing. Pie, it seemed, was actually blushing from the comment, his ears turning bright red. Beverly giggled and smacked Dutchy's arm playfully.

_Epiphany_. Upon watching the scene before her, realization hit Corky fast, and she inhaled so sharply that a high-pitched squeal escaped from her throat.

Polaroid almost dropped her spoon. She looked at Corky with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Corky caught her breath. Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she answered, "Yeah."

* * *

_Human Resources_

Dutchy returned to the HR office later in the afternoon, stretching out his arms and grunting in exhaustion. It had been a long day for him and he barely got any real work done, having been away from his desk for most of the day. He dropped down onto his chair and opened up his e-mail. Seeing the immense number of new messages in his inbox, it was safe to say that it would be an even longer day tomorrow.

Seriously, Pie owed him. _Big time_.

He scanned his inbox and clicked on Irish's message first: "This Week's Agenda." She had sent out a checklist of things that needed to be completed by Friday. There were a couple of items there that were under his jurisdiction. One of the most tedious tasks, though, he noticed, was assigned to Corky. Dutchy was the one who usually got assigned the spreadsheet, so he knew how tough it was to stay awake working on it. Therefore, he decided to pay the newest HR family member a visit and see how she was doing.

Corky had been working for another hour and a half straight. From what she could tell, she was about three-quarters finished with the spreadsheet. If she stayed a little later, she should be able to complete the assignment today, though she wasn't sure how much longer she wanted to stay in the office in this state. If she wasn't feeling so down, she would have probably been celebrating her work streak feat right now. Corky could tell Polaroid was concerned, as the intern kept sending her worried glances.

Corky stopped typing as her thoughts circled back to what was troubling her. She couldn't believe she didn't understand it sooner. All this time, she believed she liked Dutchy—after all, who wouldn't?—but she hadn't realized that she _liked_ Dutchy. It took Beverly Simmons for Corky to come to terms with a truth that, now that she thought about, should have been very obvious. She had been coming into work early—early! At the crack of dawn! She was always looking for a reason to talk to him. And when she did talk to him, she was jubilant. She even got him a bobblehead for Hush-Hush Halfsies. She loved his nicknames. She loved his smile. She loved his hair.

And she thought Polaroid was in denial!

It was the pang of melancholy, after seeing him and Beverly so happy together at lunch, which opened her eyes to her own feelings. Now she knew why Beverly had bothered her: it wasn't anything about her at all—it was only because Dutchy was interested in her. Corky couldn't believe she could be so silly as to let something like that upset her so much.

She sighed, bringing her hands to her face. She couldn't even bring herself to glance in the direction of Dutchy's cubicle.

She didn't need to. Dutchy appeared at hers.

And when Corky looked up at him, she reluctantly realized that maybe it wasn't so silly, the way she was feeling. She really _did_ like him.

He grimaced. "That bad?"

She blinked, straightening slowly. "What is?" Her voice sounded flat and tired.

"The spreadsheet. It's a pain in the neck, isn't it?"

"Oh. Yeah, it is."

"Well, let me know if you need any help with it. Thanks to Pie and his new girl, I think I'm going to be staying late today."

She almost didn't catch it, but after a second's pause, Corky's brows snapped together. "His girl?"

"Yeah, that new girl in Sales. Beverly Simmons."

A huge _"huh?"_ in neon lights flickered inside her head. "They're… dating?"

"Not yet," he said, rubbing his hands together with a roguish smirk. "But they will be."

"But I thought you and Beverly—" Corky blurted. She stopped herself, shocked that the words had tumbled out of her mouth.

A slow grin formed on his face. He knew what she was thinking. "What makes you think that?"

She kept her lips sealed, not wanting to reveal that she had actually been "sorta spying" on him earlier in the cafeteria.

"Whatever Pie told you, don't believe him." He leaned down and lowered his voice, about to let Corky in on a secret. "Truth is, I'm an _awesome_ wingman." Corky met his eyes, then, with a curious glint. "See, Pie there can't talk to a girl he likes for his life. I set him up perfectly with a girl and leave him alone, and the guy shuts down. No matter how many times me and Specs try, it doesn't work. We tried last night, too. Pfft, nothing. Waste of my wingman talent, I tell you. _But_, if we made it look like we were interested in the same girl… _then_, he mans up." Dutchy made a "he's crazy" gesture with his finger circling at his temple. "You don't wanna know how we figured that one out. Specs was _pissed _that night, is all I can say."

"So… it was… all an act?" Corky was beyond stunned.

He looked smug. "I'm good, what can I say? You know what Pie and Beverly are doing right now? They are downstairs—get this—playing foosball together. I wouldn't be surprised if, in a couple of weeks, he asks her out to a movie or something." Dutchy winked. "It was tricky work. I mean, I even had to take Jack out of the picture by the end of lunch."

Understanding sank in. With it came a lightening of the shoulders and a fluttering feeling that replaced the sinking in her stomach from earlier. Never before had she experienced this type of relief. She really felt silly now, for sitting in her cubicle in misery and embarrassment for the past couple of hours. Corky couldn't think of anything else but that Dutchy was a genius and an amazing friend.

"Do me a favor and help me convince Pie that he's nuts and owes me _big time_?" said Dutchy.

Corky beamed. "I will."

"Thanks. I'll let you get back to work. Oh, before I forget again," he added, snapping his fingers, "do you have the forms folder from yesterday?"

"Oh, yeah. Right here," she said, reaching into her bottom drawer and pulling out the bulky folder.

As Dutchy reached over to take the file, he caught sight of the calendar sitting on her desk from the corner of his eye. The bright pink marks and glimmering stickers grabbed his attention. He chuckled at Corky's affinity for shiny stickers. Wondering what the occasion was, he looked more closely, and he managed to make out the tiny words marked below the circled date.

"It's your birthday on Friday?" he asked.

Corky was surprised he asked, until she saw him staring at her calendar. "Yup," she replied.

"Cool, you have plans that night?"

"Not much on Friday. I have friends from out of state coming to visit me on Saturday, though."

"Yeah?"

She nodded.

"What would you say if I take you out for a birthday drink Friday night, then?"

Her heart soared.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter is dedicated to Corky: Happy belated Birthday! I hope you don't mind the fluffiness – I can't write romance for my life, it seems. ;)

Another round of Snoddy-style high fives go to: Acorn, Eavis, Repeat, Adren, Corky, stress, Ghost1211, Song For A Rainy Day (Hope you don't mind - I borrowed your idea for Polaroid's nickname!) – thank you all so much for your feedback on the last chapter and for sticking around despite the lack of updates!

I'd like to quickly include a plug, if I may: The Newsies "Summer Reading List" Fanfiction Awards – created to recognize Newsies fanfics being written this summer – is open for nominations. Please check out my profile for more information and please go nominate your Summer 2010 favorites!


	10. Bring Your Kids to Work Day Part II, One

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Newsies_. All other characters belong to their respective creators.

* * *

**Chapter 10.**  
"**Bring Your Kids to Work" Day Part II, Part One**

Without fail, when he was ever late for something, everything around him decided to go wrong and break down. Skittery adjusted his headphones, slugged his messenger bag over his shoulder and allowed himself to be swept up in the mad mass of cranky New York City commuters. Some power-walked, others dragged their feet sleepily. With the 6 train service unexpectedly coming to a halt on Lexington and 59th—one of the busiest stations during rush hour—commuters were driven off the train and forced to either wait for the 4 or 5 trains, or trek down to the N-Q-R platform. Skittery was part of the latter group.

Typical morning in New York City.

Seeing that the ventilation system was non-existent, the air was muggy and stifling in the station. One of the worst parts of summer was right down here. Yes, the trains were air-conditioned (unless you were really unlucky and hopped onto one with a busted AC), but it barely made a difference during rush hour, when you were crammed into a little crevice on a train packed with people who had been running about in the summer heat, perspiration and all.

When Skittery arrived at the N-Q-R platform with the rest of the downtown travelers, he pushed past the waiting crowd to get to the front of the platform. Most of the time, the front of the platform wasn't nearly as crowded as the rest of its length. He slowed down and found a spot right near the edge from where he could wait for an incoming train.

Whenever there was a rumbling in the station, he leaned forward to see if a pair of headlights in the tunnel was making its way to the station, but it was always a train on the opposite track. His patience was wearing thin. It was on the third time he performed this habit that he saw her from the corner of his eye, standing just a few feet away.

Pegasus was absently toeing the yellow protective strip on the ground (which served as the safety mark for waiting commuters) clutching a clear shopping bag in both hands. It was a rare sight, seeing Peg without a scarf wrapped around her face and shoulders. Not surprisingly, though, she had brought the scarf with her—he could see the ends of it sticking out of her tote bag.

Skittery removed his headphones, pushing them down onto his shoulders, and walked towards his fellow co-worker.

"Hey, Peg," he said.

Surprised by his sudden appearance, Peg took a long second to react to his greeting. "Skittery, hi!" she finally replied. "I didn't know you took the R to work."

"I usually take the 6. Service stopped for some reason, though."

Looking about the platform, she said, "No wonder it's more crowded than usual here." And it was getting more crowded with every minute that passed with no train.

Skittery nodded at the shopping bag in her hands. "Whatcha got there?"

"This?" she said, lifting the bag slightly. She beamed sheepishly. "Cupcakes."

His mind instantly picked up at the mention of food. "Cupcakes, huh?"

She nodded, fixing those huge glasses of hers on the bridge of her nose. "I have a friend who works at the _Crumbs_ on Lexington," she explained, before adding covertly, "She always throws in a free cookie for me when the manager's not looking."

An easy smile tugged at his lips. "What's the occasion?"

She shrugged casually. "No occasion. We girls figured we deserved a little 'take five' with a side of frosted sugary goodness once in a while. And since Stress got the last batch, it's my turn. Wanna see?" She opened wide the bag to show him the package of six colorfully decorated cupcakes. "The Red Velvet is for Stress, the Caramel Apple is for Adren—"

"Who's Adren?"

"She's the Editorial intern shadowing Stress. And I think I'll give the Blueberry Swirl and Raspberry Swirl to Mush and Blink, because they've been helping out a lot while Swifty's been talking to Stacy and Race has been playing his online poker games."

Skittery feigned disbelief as he demanded, "Where's mine?"

She crinkled her nose. "You know how expensive these are? You've got to _earn_ one." She peered into her bag again. "That leaves the Toasted Coconut and the Cotton Candy."

"Dibs on the Toasted Coconut," he called. "I'll earn it."

"I want the Toasted Coconut. You can have the Cotton Candy."

"That one's _pink_."

"It's just frosting—cream cheese frosting. Ah!" she exclaimed suddenly, pointing a thoughtful finger at him, "And it'll match your shirt."

Skittery looked down and almost groaned. That's what he got for not doing the laundry; the only clean button-down he had left when he rolled out of bed this morning was a light pink one his older sister had gotten for him last Christmas. Not too fond of the color, Skittery had tucked it away into the farthest reaches possible of his tiny closet. He didn't even remember he still had it until today, when he pulled open the sticking door and saw his closet nearly empty of clothes—except for this one shirt.

"R is coming," Peg announced.

He followed her gaze into the tunnel. "About time," Skittery muttered as he glanced at his watch. They were already late.

As it rumbled and screeched into the station, the incoming train caused a collective movement as the commuters crept towards the ledge of the platform. Even though they had been waiting on the edge, Skittery and Peg felt the crowd closing in around them and pushing them back farther from the train. The R came to a full stop and the doors slid open. A number of passengers streamed out of the train, squeezing between the waiting travelers. Before the last passenger even managed to scamper out the doors, the swarm went into action.

With everyone in a rush to get to work, people shoved with their shoulders and bags to get through. Timing his jump right, Skittery slipped past two burly men just as they bumped hard into and bounced off each other. He struggled to skip through the next level of people ahead of him, but—he glimpsed ahead to see how full the train car was—it looked like he could just make it in at this point. When he was just inches from the entrance, he grabbed at the open frame and, at last, heaved himself in.

Pegasus, on the other hand, was close to giving up. Taller and stronger men and women had pushed their way ahead of her, and Peg felt herself getting carried farther away, especially as she allowed elderly people to cut in front of her. She knew she was already late to the office, but she was reassured knowing that rest of the Web Team was probably kicking off the morning playing _World of Warcraft_ anyway. The mad crowd wasn't worth damaging her pretty (and pricey) cupcakes either. She was just three people away from the now-packed train car when she heard the chiming indicating that the doors were going to close. Peg sighed. She'd just have to wait for the next train.

And just at that moment, a hand shot out between the people standing in front of her, seized her elbow in an iron grip and pulled her forward; it happened so quickly, Peg didn't even realize she was knocking people out of the way with her bags as she was hauled into the train car, and before she knew it, she flew straight into Skittery's chest.

The doors slid shut behind her.

He released her arm as the train plodded to its next stop. Peg sucked in her breath, afraid to breathe, unnerved by the lack of space between them. It was awkward enough to bump into someone outside of their usual context—in this case, a co-worker outside of the office—but then to be thrown into each other's personal space on top of that? With her shoulders pressed up to her ears, Peg leaned back against the doors—even though the signs on all the doors explicitly warned against leaning against them—in an attempt to compress herself and to create breathing room. It didn't help. She was standing so close to him that the top of her head was directly beneath his chin.

She tried to busy her mind, trying to mentally take herself out of the cramped train. Unfortunately, her mind wandered. She tilted her head back to face Skittery and saw him staring off into space, seemingly deep in thought himself. Then she tilted her head to the left, thinking, with newfound appreciation, that she rather liked that tousled hair look on him. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Preposterous! She chastised her wandering mind repeatedly, swatting the thought away like one would at a fly. Her liking Skittery because of his hair? She snorted.

Skittery was no Mike Rowe.

"I got you on the train," Skittery said suddenly, causing Peg to quickly avert her eyes. She stared at the "Learn English" ads along the walls instead. He added dryly, "Have I earned a cupcake now?"

With a revelatory "oh!" she felt for the bag hanging at her wrist. "My cupcakes…" Peg said lamely, trying to look down, but it was too cramped for her to check on the bag.

Thankfully, the crowd soon dissipated after several stops: some let off at 49th Street, many ran out at Times Square and 42nd Street, and just as many took their leave at 34th Street and Herald Square. Just as soon after, Skittery and Peg were on their way as well. They stepped off at their stop, passed through the turnstiles, trudged up the stairs, and emerged from the stuffy underground, breathing in the slightly less stuffy New York summer air.

It was only a short walk to Pulitzer Publishing. They entered the upscale building, greeted the security guards and scanned their ID badges at the turnstiles before catching the elevator up to the Lab. On the way up, Peg inspected her cupcakes—they had, to her relief, survived the rough commute.

When the elevator doors opened on their floor and they stepped out, Skittery and Peg both immediately sensed that something was wrong. From their spot, they could see the inside of the Lab through the glass windows. Jack was talking with Race and Swifty, who wasn't on his phone, which was strange. Peg studied the rest of the Lab, including the desks belonging to the designers. Aside from the monitors, keyboards, and mice, all the desks were stark empty. Even the cubicle corkboards, which some of the designers filled proudly with their children's drawings, posters, or with notes and calendars, were bare.

"Uh… what's going on?" Skittery asked in confusion.

"I have no idea." _Children's drawings._ Her hand flew to her mouth as she covered up a gasp. "Mr. Jones!" she exclaimed in panic, and rushed to the Lab doors.

"What?"

"Mr. Jones!" she cried again as she ran in, not bothering to wait for Skittery.

Pegasus dashed across the Lab to her cubicle, rounded the panels, and faced her desk. Her sights fell on the spot where her proud 12-inch _Indiana Jones_ action figure usually stood. The spot was empty.

Mr. Jones was gone, in his place a single yellow Post-It. She approached the note slowly and plucked it off the desk. Peg could barely make out the illegible scribbles, but after some scrutinizing, she decoded the message.

_Hey ya pansy horse with pansy wings!  
We're holding Indiana Jones hostage!_

"What's the matter with you?" Skittery asked, having finally caught up with her.

"They took him," Peg uttered in disbelief. "They took Mr. Jones."

Skittery frowned, looking around at his grim-faced friends. He realized now that she was referring to her precious collector's item. "Who took him?"

"Didn't you get Jonathan's e-mails? Nice shirt, by the way," said Jack, standing by Swifty's cubicle.

"I've been deleting them," Skittery said curtly, deliberately ignoring Jack's jab at his pink shirt. "What's going on?" he demanded again.

Pegasus turned to him then, shoulders slumped, visibly deflated. "It's 'Bring Your Kids to Work' Day."

Racetrack scowled as he added: "Part Two."

* * *

To: adren(at)pulitzerpublishing(dot)com  
From: jonathan(at)pulitzerpublishing(dot)com  
Subject: Bring Your Kids to Work Day, Part II!

**ATTENTION PULITZER PUBLISHING EMPLOYEES!**

After the wildly successful "Bring Your Kids to Work" Day that we at Pulitzer Publishing hosted in April, we thought we should bring it back for a second time this summer! Why, you ask?

Because the** second** time around means **double** the fun!

Mark your calendars, folks: "Bring Your Kids to Work" Day, Part II is upon us next Tuesday!

Directions: Bring your kids, little brothers, sisters, nephews, or nieces, etc. to work. Interns, please feel free to participate in this fun event!

Benefits: Your children will surely appreciate learning about the amazing Pulitzer Publishing Company—including the company's past and the remarkable Mr. Pulitzer, to today's successful day to day operations. I, Jonathan, will be hosting these exclusive lectures and tours myself.

To those bringing their delightful youngsters to our wonderful company, we at Pulitzer Publishing would like to inform you that FREE PIZZA will be provided for lunch at the Company Cafeteria. This is a company first! (You may thank me on Tuesday.)

If you have any questions, I, Jonathan, would be more than happy to address them.

Yours truly,

Jonathan

jonathan(at)pulitzerpublishing(dot)com  
Assistant to Mr. Pulitzer  
Head Event Coordinator  
Head Intern Coordinator

Adren shrugged, still puzzled. She had thought something more serious than "Bring Your Kids to Work" Day was going on today, considering the gloom in the office. Since stepping foot onto the Editorial floor at 10:02AM, Adren observed with mystification as Stress fretted at her desk. Even Snoddy looked serious this morning. She asked Jake about the two anxious editors and he was just as baffled by his mentor's behavior. And then she finally went up to Stress, asking her if she needed help with any tasks today. Stress twitched at Adren's sudden appearance, her eyes and movements as alert as a bird's.

"Is something wrong?" Adren asked, concerned by Stress' heightened unease and the accordingly similar atmosphere of the office.

Stress saw the look in Adren's face and tried to calm down for the intern's sake. "No, I'm just being paranoid," she offered as easily as she could manage. She briefly checked her IM window to see if Peg had signed on yet. She hadn't.

Snoddy moved from his cubicle, stopping to call out to Stress. There was no ragging grin on his face, no mention of his alma mater. "Hey, Stress, coming to the meeting?"

Stress nodded, gathering a notepad and a pen before reluctantly rising from her chair. "Adren," she said, "could you check on the mailroom quickly for me? I should have gotten a package from a Joan Ringlow. I want to look at it as soon as I get out of the meeting."

"Sure thing, Stress," Adren said.

"And Adren—when you come back, can you keep an eye on my desk, please?" Adren frowned at the odd request. "Scratch that," Stress said, laughing nervously. "I'm just being paranoid. Just the package from Joan Ringlow, then."

Adren nodded and offered, "I'll go right now." Stress smiled her appreciation before making her way to the conference room.

As she stepped through the heavy oak doors out of the Editor's floor and strode towards the elevators, Adren bit the inside of her cheek in thought. Something was definitely wrong. Why was no one in the office talking? The nervous silence was unsettling. When the elevator doors opened with a _ping!_ Adren stepped inside and pressed for the basement. She thought to ask Pegasus if she had any idea what was happening at Pulitzer Publishing. Then she could stop to say hi to Itey, since he worked in the Lab as well. Adren was deep in thought the entire trip down—so deep in thought, in fact, that she almost missed the doors closing on her at the basement.

Jerking out of her reverie, Adren slipped through the sliding doors and turned into the mailroom to her left. She turned the knob, pushed open the door—

And stopped dead in her tracks.

It looked like a storm blew through the mailroom. The room was a disaster, with letters thrown and tossed from their bins. Packages had toppled off the shelves. Every inch of the floor was covered by hills of envelopes. Adren stepped inside, still in shock from the sight, and pushed aside the fallen mail with her foot. _What happened?_ she wondered. _Who could have done this?_

Things were getting stranger by the minute and now, with the mailroom in disarray, Adren couldn't afford to simply sit on the sideline. She had to notify someone about the mail and hopefully get some answers in the process.

Just as she turned to leave, however, someone appeared at the door.

"Devon?" the newcomer called as she peeked into the mailroom. It was a girl Adren could only vaguely recall from the Intern Orientation tour. With long blonde hair half pulled back and anxious green eyes obviously in search of something, the girl paled at the sight before her. The stunned expression on her face reflected the one Adren had worn when just minutes before.

Two thin cords trailed from the girl's ears to the iPod in her right hand, though the music playing on it was all but forgotten at the moment. "What happened?" she asked, utterly perplexed.

"I'm not sure. It was like this when I got here," Adren replied.

She removed her earphones and murmured in vexation, "What is going on today?"

It seemed Editorial wasn't the only one experiencing the strange atmosphere. "Beats me," Adren said, pursing her lips with concern.

"You noticed it, too? I thought I was just imagining things…"

"You're not the only one imagining them, then. Everyone's acting funny, and now this," she said, gesturing to the messy room. "I was thinking we should let a staff member know about this."

"I'll go find someone," the girl offered, nodding. Sidestepping the cluttered mail, she went out into the hallway and, luckily, found someone passing just at that moment. "Hi," she said, her voice small. She made up for it by raising her hand and giving a short wave.

Specs was on his way to the employee lounge when the girl stopped him. He smiled genially, figuring she was an intern that, by the look on her face, was having trouble finding something in the mailroom. In the early days of his internship last summer, Specs had had the unfortunate duty of digging and sorting through the high volumes of mail. He'd read stories of how all the successful people got their start in the mailroom, and how they learned a great deal on the job. Well, Specs begged to differ. It was the most painfully boring job he had ever had and he learned zip. When he got transferred to the Finance office, he gladly thought he'd never have to set foot inside the mailroom again.

"Need some help?" asked Specs.

"Yes," she said. "Something… happened. It's a complete mess in here."

It was always a complete mess in the mailroom. Specs wasn't so keen on returning to the place that had nearly driven him mad. _Eh, for old time's sakes_, he thought. With his experience, he was sure it would only take a few seconds to help out the unfortunate intern on mailroom duty.

He was wrong. Specs gaped at the sabotaged room. No sooner did he lay eyes on the place did he know who the vandalizers were. He should've known better than to think he would be in and out of this room in under a minute.

"We have no idea what happened," said the girl.

Specs sighed. "You both are interns, right?" he asked, spying the other girl in the room.

"Yes. I'm Adren. I'm interning in Editorial."

The blonde girl introduced herself as well. "Repeat. I'm in Communications."

He followed suit. "Specs, I work in Finance. You guys know it's 'Bring Your Kids to Work' Day, right?"

Adren and Repeat nodded.

"That answers your question about what happened here," he said. He shook his head as he took in the room. Since the company laid off employees at the beginning of the year, the mailroom had been tended to by a rotation of HR people. _Well, where the heck were they now?_ Reluctantly—begrudgingly—he began picking up the mail and the overturned bins from the floor.

"Uh…"

He realized they need more of an explanation. "It began back in April. The original 'Bring Your Kids to Work' Day. The kids that came that day… well, they wreaked havoc on the company and almost everyone in it."

Adren spoke up. "Wait. Are you saying _kids_ did this?"

"There's no doubt about it."

"And is that why everyone's been acting weird today?"

"Most likely. Everyone's been waiting to see if the kids would repeat what they did last time."

"You can't mean all of the kids, though?" Repeat inquired.

"Nah. That's the sad part. It's just one rogue group that kicks our butt."

* * *

_Human Resources_

She had been away from her desk for five minutes. Five minutes, and someone had cleared her desk of all its accessories. Her bobbleheads and her _Ninja Turtles_ were gone. "_Haha_," Corky mumbled sarcastically, looking around the room suspiciously, trying to pinpoint the devious culprit responsible for her missing things. But she found nothing else out of the ordinary. Everyone was genuinely absorbed in their work.

Corky scrunched her nose and turned to Polaroid. "Did you see who took my stuff?"

Polaroid nodded. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

"What—what do you mean?" Corky said, frowning now.

"A little boy came in and took them. I asked him what he was doing and he said you told him it was okay to play with them for the day."

Corky's eyes widened in shock. She said slowly, "I didn't talk to any little boys."

Polaroid's face fell. "Uh-oh."

* * *

_Mailroom_

Despite herself, Repeat laughed at the disgruntled look on Specs' face. Seeing how serious he was about the matter, though, she veiled her amusement with an awkward cough.

"But why would kids do this?" inquired Adren, still skeptical.

There was no hesitation in Specs' response. "Why? 'Cause they're bored. And 'cause they're evil."

* * *

_Editor's Floor_

A quick hour after it began, the meeting came to a close. Stress exited the conference room in a nervous rush, heading straight to her desk. Her green eyes were alert as they surveyed the spacious work area. After a long moment, a sigh of immense relief escaped her lungs when she saw everything on her desk was intact. Nothing had happened. She had been fretting for no reason.

Stress dropped into her chair and pulled up her e-mail. No new messages. Then she checked her Instant Message program. Peg still wasn't on.

Now that was odd. She glanced at the time in the corner of her desktop and bit her lip. 11:40. Peg normally signed on the minute she got in the office. _Odd, indeed_, she thought suspiciously, _especially considering the events taking place today_. Stress shook her head, waving off the nagging uneasiness. _There is a perfectly sound explanation for this_, she convinced herself. With that, she dragged her notepad towards her, plucked a pen from her utensils mug, and set her mind to making the day's checklist.

She put pen to paper, but no letters appeared on her notepad. Stress sighed, realizing another pen had run out of ink. She tossed the used pen into the wastebasket and grabbed another one.

Before she could start on her checklist again, however, another thought occurred to her. Stress straightened, stretching her neck above the high walls of her desk. She had suddenly remembered asking Adren to pick up a package from the mailroom. There was no package and—Stress scanned the room—there was no Adren.

She breathed in slowly. _There is a perfectly sound explanation for this._

She should have seen it coming, of course. When she clicked her pen to return to work, it exploded all over the desk, her shirt, her face. She blinked and jumped back in her seat, startled. Splotches of dark blue ink everything in a one-foot radius.

_There is a perfectly sound explanation for all this,_ Stress thought, this time with a trace of anxiety. _And that explanation is "Bring Your Kids to Work" Day._

Somewhere from the far recesses of the office, Stress could have sworn she heard the sound of a child's stifled snicker.

* * *

_Communications_

Peg entered the Communications floor with a purposeful stride. This was the second time she launched a rescue mission for her _Indiana Jones_ collectible action figure, and she had learned quite a few things from the first round.

One was that Mr. Jones' kidnapper was little brother to an employee in Communications. Peg walked down the hall of cubicles, glancing at the name plates on each side until she found the one she was searching for on the second cubicle from the end. She knocked on the divider.

Sitting inside was a girl with long blonde hair left loose around her shoulders, falling down the length of her back. Poring over a tediously long e-mail with focused blue eyes and with her ears tuned into the music playing on her headphones, she didn't notice Peg standing to her left until Peg gave a friendly wave.

Catching the slight motion from the corner of her eye, the Communications member gave a start and swirled her chair round to face Peg. "Hi, can I help you?"

"Hi, Jeans," she began, "I don't know if you remember me. I'm Peg—from the Web team downstairs."

Unfortunately, Jeans didn't appear as though she remembered Peg at all.

She tried to jog her memory further. "Your little brother—he kind of took something of mine back in April, on the first 'Bring Your Kids to Work' Day…"

Jeans straightened abruptly in realization. "Oh, of course! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you with the bangs."

"Oh, yeah, these are pretty new," Peg said, flicking the dark hair just above her eyes. "Anyway, I was sort of wondering if you knew where he was. Your brother, that is."

Her face fell with dreary apprehension. "Oh drat, why do you ask?"

Pegasus reached into her pocket and handed her the yellow sticky note. Jeans' sharp eyes immediately recognized her brother's handwriting.

Her lips drew thin. "That insufferable insubordinate brother of mine," she muttered, nervously fingering the lion pendant hanging on the necklace around her neck. To Peg she gave an apologetic look. "I'm sorry about this. And I told him this morning not to cause any more trouble…"

"It's all right," Peg said, waving it off good-naturedly. "Kids, they get bored, and then they… do things. I mean, this isn't exactly the most riveting place to spend the day. I'm sure they'd rather be at Disney Land or something."

"Oh, I know. Especially since Jonathan keeps insisting on taking the kids on a tour of the company… oh! I know where my brother will be," Jeans exclaimed suddenly. "In the cafeteria. Jonathan mentioned in his e-mails that they're going to be serving free pizza at noon."

"That's right!" Peg remembered. She looked at the time on her phone. 11:41AM.

"My brother _loves_ pizza. He'll be there. I guarantee it."

* * *

_The Lab_

"Nah, it's a good look on you. Really. It's… different. It's different is what it is, right guys? It's like one of those paintings from that artist, ya know? The one that splashes buckets of paint everywhere," Jack appeased. Scratching the back of his head, he asked his friends, "What was that guy's name?"

"Pollock," Peg answered automatically as she veered into the Web corner. She dug her toes into the carpet, coming to an abrupt stop. "_What happened?_"

Stress sat, sullen, in Peg's cubicle. Smudges of blue stained her cheek and jaw while something akin to ink spotted her grey blouse. Pursing her lips grimly, she said simply, "My pen exploded."

Peg's eyes narrowed. "On 'Bring Your Kids to Work' Day? Coincidence?"

She shook her head. "I think not," Stress answered. She indicated the empty corner of Peg's desk. "I heard about what happened to Indiana Jones. Did you find him?"

"Not yet, but I know where to go next."

Stress looked at her inquiringly.

"The cafeteria," Peg provided. "I just went to see Jeans in Com and she reminded me about the free pizza party Jonathan's hosting at noon."

All the boys in the immediate area perked up at the words "free pizza." Jack shook his head with noticeable incredulity before an eager grin spread across his features. "I can't believe I forgot," he said to himself. He wasn't the only one who had overlooked the detail. They had all been so concerned about "Bring Your Kids to Work" Day that their internal Free Food Radar failed to pick up the obvious readings.

"It's almost noon. I'm going to head down now," said Peg.

Before Peg even finished her sentence, Jack jumped on the opportunity. "What do guys say to pizza for lunch?" he proposed to his friends.

"Brilliant idea, Jack," Race answered quickly, already rising from his chair. Jack, Swifty, and Skittery immediately followed suit.

Jack paused as the rest of the boys filed across the Lab to the doors. "Mush, Blink! Lunchtime," he called out to the interns. He turned to Stress next. "You coming?"

Stress flushed slightly, suddenly all too aware of how silly she must have appeared with the ink smudges on her face. "I think I'll pass on this one. I have a lot of work to do."

"Come on, Stress. It's free food."

Peg nearly jumped up and down with glee. She momentarily pushed the rescue mission to the side in favor of Stress and her You-know-who. "Yes, _it's free food_," Peg urged, hinting wildly with her eyes.

Stress caved after another minute. Satisfied, Jack jogged ahead to join his waiting friends while Peg, grinning from ear to ear now, and Stress, scrubbing her face with a baby wipe Peg supplied from her desk, took their time walking behind.

"This is perfect," Peg whispered merrily. "I can use Jack and Skittery to get those little rascals to cough up Mr. Jones, and in the meantime, you can talk to _you-know-who!_"

* * *

_Mailroom_

"Absolute terrors. Look at what they did to this place!" Specs griped as he bent down to pick up the scattered letters from the floor. As though a thought just occurred to him, Specs straightened, hands on his hips, jaw set stubbornly. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a thin phone and began to push at the buttons with his thumb.

Repeat tidied the mail bins. "You said it was one rogue group. Do you know who the individual kids are?"

"Kind of," Specs affirmed, inserting the phone back into his pocket. "We know who the two primary members are—the leaders that is. Problem is, by the end of 'Bring Your Kids to Work Day' Part One, they had recruited more kids. And we have no clue who those are." Specs shrugged despairingly. "Something tells me they might recruit more today, too."

That didn't sit well with Repeat. _Two primary members, recruiting._ She couldn't quite put her finger as to why that was bothering her…

And then it hit her. She gulped, gripped by sudden apprehension. "My parents made me bring my little brother, Devon, with me today. Mr. Denton asked me to deliver some CDs to the Lab, and I had to leave my brother at my computer. When I came back, he was gone. He was gone for more than a half-hour so I came down here, looking for him…" She reflected for a moment. "I was sure he mentioned something about ping pong and thought he'd be in the employer's lounge. But he wasn't there."

Specs and Adren waited with looks of concern.

"Before I went to the Lab, I saw my brother talking with two kids."

"Oh no," Specs grimaced, feeling his speculations coming true. "Freckles, reddish-brown hair, chewing on one of those _Godiva_ cigars?"

"Yes."

"Cute little tough guy with puppy-dog eyes and corduroy pants?"

Repeat bit her lip. "Yes."

So it was true. They _were_ recruiting more members. Specs had just described the two known leaders of the group that had troubled him and many other employees back in April. "Jimmy and Aaron," Specs informed. "Otherwise known as Snipeshooter and Boots. It's too late for your brother."

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is Part One of Two of "Bring Your Kids to Work" Day Part II. Why the two parts, you ask? Because **two** chapters mean **double** the fun! Sorry, couldn't resist pulling a Jonathan there. Actually, it's only because – by the looks of my scribbled outline – this might be a lengthy episode, so I decided to break it up into two.

I also wanted to get a new chapter out as soon as possible because 1) it's been over a month since the last one, and 2) I wanted to thank everyone who voted in the "Summer Reading List" Fanfiction Awards. _Cubicle_ claimed 2nd Place in Best Summer Comedy and won 1st for Best Dialogue! Again, thank you for voting for this silly story. ;)

I've grown to really like these Snoddy-style high fives, so here comes another round of them to: Acorn, Corky, Polaroid, Repeat, Adren, Eavis, stress, and Song For A Rainy Day! Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. :)


	11. Bring Your Kids to Work Day Part II, Two

**Disclaimer:** _Newsies_ is the property of Disney. All other featured characters belong to their respective creators.

**Announcement:** The nomination period for the "Summer Reading List" Fanfiction Awards has been extended! Please check my profile for more information. Thank you!

* * *

**Chapter 11.  
Bring Your Kids to Work Day, Part II, Part Two**

* * *

Snitch pulled out a worn wallet from his back pocket and retrieved two crumpled dollar bills. Straightening them out as best he could, he inserted the first single into the slot.

He was thirsty, and he was tired. It had been so unbearably hot and muggy last night in his family's apartment—with their broken air conditioner—that Snitch had barely slept a wink. Instead, he ended up playing games on his PS3 on the couch until about four in the morning, when he finally fell asleep. Now Snitch could barely keep his eyes open, so he decided it was the right time for a shot of sugar and caffeine.

The soda machine, however, had other plans. It spat out his dollar, rejecting its sad and wrinkled state. Snitch tried his other bill; that, too, the machine haughtily rebuffed.

"Oh, come _on_," Snitch groaned. He pulled taut the bills and wiped them against the corner of the machine, trying to iron out the wrinkles. Then, he tried again.

The machine still didn't accept either bills.

"This machine hates me," Snitch muttered miserably.

"Looks like you could use some help," came a voice from his right.

Snitch turned to the right and saw nothing; then he looked down, and saw a pair of kids watching him expectantly. The redhead was chewing on one of those expensive chocolate cigars. The blonde had his hands shoved into his pockets, an unassuming expression on his face.

It was the one with the cigar who had spoken. He held up two crisp dollar bills. "How about a trade?"

"Hey, that's real nice of you, kid," said Snitch, grinning. _What a relief!_ Snitch could get his coke now. _Some kids are really cool_, he thought gratefully as he extended one hand with his bills and the other with an open palm, expecting the kid's trade.

The kid snatched Snitch's dollars. Then, to Snitch's incredible surprise, the two kids whirled about face on their toes, and took off, launching down the hall.

"Hey… hey!" he shouted after them.

"Sucker!" the kid responded, waving the singles—_his_ singles—in the air.

There was no way he was losing two bucks to those now uncool children. Snitch ran after them, his long legs rapidly closing the distance between him and the two kids who had stopped at the elevators. The boys turned around and saw Snitch coming. They shot across to the left and pushed mightily against a heavy door, leading to the stairwell. Scurrying down the stairs, they did not chance another look back. They didn't need to. They could hear Snitch's footsteps echoing behind them.

Down and further down they ran, until there were no more stairs left. The boys had reached the basement. Snitch desperately wished he had consumed some caffeine in the morning—the lack of sleep was messing with his speed and response time.

He heaved himself against the door and emerged into the basement. The boys had already reached the far end of the hall. Only the door to the supply room and custodial closets remained there. There was nowhere left for them to run and they knew it. Snitch called on his last energy reserves and sped past the mailroom, past the employee lounge. "You kids better give me my money back!" he demanded angrily.

Just as he finished his sentence, just as he made it within five feet of his targets, a clatter reverberated through the hall. Too late did he see the mass of marbles rolling towards him.

"Whoa! _Whoooaa!_" Snitch cried as he treaded wildly over the marbles, stumbling and slipping, his arms flailing as he futilely tried to regain balance.

The door to the custodial closet directly ahead of him suddenly swung open wide. He didn't realize that he had crashed into its dark interiors until he felt the pain on his forehead and heard the clang of buckets and mops crashing down on him. "_Guh_…" he moaned as he slid to the floor, clutching at the throbbing pain on his head with both hands.

A _thud!_ momentarily took his attention from the ache. The door had closed. He was enveloped completely in black.

"Hey… hey, guys!" Snitch crawled to the door, still holding his forehead. Reaching up to the knob, he gave it a twist.

No give.

_No give?_ Was he locked inside the custodial closet? Did those kids actually _lock him inside the custodial closet?_

"Oh, no, no, _no_… guys, this isn't funny!" Snitch shouted, pounding at the door. "Let me out! _Ow_, my head…"

Just beyond the door, Snipeshooter whirled around his fingers the keys he had pinched earlier from a custodian. "All in a morning's work," he said with a satisfied nod. "Nice work, Devon! Not bad for your first go."

"That was fun," Devon said enthusiastically.

"And Boots, my man! Awesome timing with the marbles, as always."

"It's what I do," Boots responded with a nonchalant shrug.

"All right, let's get these marbles back in the bag and go to the cafeteria." He patted his stomach hungrily. "I heard they're giving pizza for lunch."

* * *

_Human Resources_

The phone hummed, its screen lighting up and calling for its owner's attention. A text message had arrived for him. Finishing the rest of the item he was entering into the database, Dutchy reached for his phone and checked his message inbox. It was from Specs, he noted, and it read:

_COME DOWN TO THE MAILROOM NOW._

"_Hell no,"_ was Dutchy's immediate mental reply. But he read it again, and he couldn't help but note the urgency in the caps. He hated to say that the detail intrigued him, but it did. _What was Specs doing down in the mailroom anyway? Didn't he declare that he would never step into that place again?_

Sitting poised inside her office, Irish Flare's fingers flew over her keyboard, rapidly typing up an e-mail. Justine was at a conference today, which thankfully meant that she wasn't in the office to constantly look over Irish's shoulder and find some excuse to berate her work. It also meant, however, that Irish had to pull double the weight in the office.

A knock at the door. Irish looked up to see Dutchy poking his head in.

"Hey, Irish. You know who's on mailroom duty today?"

She sifted through the papers on her desk and found the printout of the Weekly Mailroom Assignments sheet. "Yes, Pie should be."

"Mind if I go today instead?"

Irish was surprised. "Is Pie okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. I just wanna stretch my legs out. Too much sitting, it's not good for you, ya know?"

She thought the request over briefly. "Yeah, that'll be fine if you go today."

"Great." Dutchy beamed.

When he left, Irish shrugged her shoulders and returned to her e-mail. She found Dutchy's request strange: no one ever _volunteered_ to handle the mailroom, and the last person she expected to do so was Dutchy. But she wasn't about to further question his rare offer to take initiative.

* * *

_Finance Office_

He hated having to talk to Mr. Snyder, the Senior Accountant. David took a deep breath and, hoping to get the encounter over with as quickly as possible, accelerated his pace to Snyder's desk.

"Excuse me, Mr. Snyder. I finished the reports you asked for," said David, carefully placing the papers on Snyder's desk.

The white-haired man peeled his eyes from the monitor and stared at David for an unnaturally long second. Slowly, his eyes moved to the papers next. "Is it in alphabetical or chronological order?"

"Wha—?" David had been working here for months—did Snyder really think that little of him? Why would the _monthly_ financial reports be _alphabetical? _"Chronological, of course."

Snyder picked up the report and flipped through its pages. "Hmm…"

_Now what?_ David wondered.

"Where are the departmental reports?"

David's heart skipped a beat as the fear of committing a mistake flared up in his mind. The momentary doubt flickered out and passed, however, as he was more than certain Snyder had asked for a summary of the company spendings from the last two months. He told the Senior Accountant so.

"Mr. Jacobs, answer me this: how are we supposed to send out the departmental reports by the end of the month if we don't have them?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Snyder, you never asked me to take on the departmental reports. Only the company summary."

"Mr. Jacobs. Once again you have me wondering why I bother giving you a task in the first place, when you can't even remember the said task," said Snyder, enunciating every word. He _tsk-tsk_ed and waved David away.

But David stood his ground, resentful but aware that there was no arguing with him. Snyder had only one point of view and it was his only. Unless you wanted to waste time having him ignore all your valid and justified points, it was best to steer clear of that route. Therefore, David begrudgingly offered, "Would you like me to work on the departmental reports?"

He smiled a smile that was more akin to a sneer. "Trying to redeem yourself, Mr. Jacobs?" he asked, his voice eerily mocking. "Fine then, I shall grant you one last chance. You may go ahead and put together the departmental report for this month. I will be expecting it on my desk by Friday. And please, try not to get confused this time."

David returned to his desk. _"One last chance," a-ha! What was Snyder going to do? Not give him work?_ David took a seat and plucked off the Post-Its of completed assignments from his calendar board. On a fresh note, David jotted down "Finish dept. reports." Then he peeled off the note and stuck it under Friday.

"What was that about?" whispered Bumlets from the next desk. He cautiously glanced in Snyder's direction before continuing. "I totally remember hearing him give you the company summary report to do."

David shook his head and sighed resignedly. Bumlets, the lone Finance intern, had been a great help the entire summer thus far—they both worked tirelessly over the report that he just handed to Snyder. "Want to help on this one, too?"

"Sure," Bumlets said.

"Thanks a lot. Let me get you the details in a minute. I'm just going to ask Specs if he finished updating the template…" David sought Specs at his desk, but he was nowhere to be found. "Say, have you seen Specs? He's been out of the office for a while now, hasn't he?"

* * *

_Mailroom_

Dutchy couldn't believe what he was seeing.

With a cheeky grin, Specs handed him a mail bin. "All right, HR man. Do your thing."

Glaring at his friend, Dutchy grabbed the bin with a bitter huff. "I actually _volunteered_ to come down here," he said to himself. "I'm an idiot."

* * *

_Cafeteria_

"Check out the whiplash action! _Whup-ish!_" Snipeshooter held Indiana Jones' arm between his fingers, tugging it back and forth as he emitted the sound effects of a whip, Jones' signature weapon. "_Whoop-ah!_"

"_Cool!_" exclaimed Les. "It looks just like 'im, too."

"Can't forget Indy's hat," reminded Patrick as he passed over the miniature fedora.

Snipes placed the hat on the action figure's head and adjusted it to an angle. Satisfied with the complete look, his thoughts moved on to the team before him. "All right, team. Let's do a recap of what we've done so far," he said.

Boots spoke up. "Snipes and me nabbed Indiana Jones first thing. Les, Tumbler, and Ten-Pin handled the mailroom. And then Snipes, Devon, and me again locked up some guy in the janitor's closet." He shrugged, as if the latest task had been effortless. "We got his two bucks, too."

"_Score_. Us: three. Pansies: zero. Job well done, gentleman," Snipeshooter commended with a pleased nod.

"When do I get to do something?" asked Patrick—a new member who, with Devon, had joined the ranks this morning. He was eager to join the fun.

"You're with me," said Les cheerily. "I've got a real good idea, too."

"We secured the materials for our main event, right?" inquired Snipes.

"Sure did," Boots replied. "Me and Les got them in our bookbags."

"Awesome. Man, it's gonna be _epic_." His team's matters settled, Snipes' mind followed the grumblings of his stomach and focused on the food they were promised. He stretched his neck upwards, trying to get a view of the front of the cafeteria. There, he spied that weirdo, Jonathan, standing behind two long tables, and a blonde lady carrying in a tower of white pizza boxes. With a frustrated pout, he muttered, "When the heck are they gonna give us food?"

Just then, Jonathan perked up, wearing a grin over his mousy features. He clasped his hand together excitedly and announced: "My little guests, it is now time for lunch to commence!"

Snipes and Boots shared a look of exasperation. "Who's he callin' little?" Boots muttered before they leapt out of their chairs and took off towards the tables ahead. Once there—their group besting the other kids to the front of the line—they each plucked a paper plate from the table and rushed to the blonde serving lady.

Acorn grasped the spatula in her hand, picking up slices of pizza with it and plopping them onto the waiting children's paper plates, wondering all the while if this is what most other Assistant's Assistants had to go through. She held back a glum sigh. It wasn't that she minded the special events—it was better than sitting behind the desk all day—it was that she had to spend the entire day next to Jonathan.

"Hey, I want a bigger slice!" demanded a kid with curly red hair.

Acorn bit her lip and forced a smile, knowing Jonathan was right beside her. "Here you go," she managed as nicely as possible, sliding a bigger slice of pizza onto his plate. "Charming children," she mumbled through her teeth when the boy rushed back to the tables with his friends.

"Aren't they?" Jonathan chirped. He turned to the kids. "Remember, kids: I'm hosting the Pulitzer Tour after lunch. Don't miss it! It will be most exciting!"

He wasn't a terrible boss. It was just that Acorn thought she earned a raise for all the work she did, not to mention all of Jonathan's prattling praise for Pulitzer she had to put up with.

She glanced sideways at her boss cheerfully greeting the kids, most of whom paid him little attention. When she really thought about it, however, all she truly wanted was a little bit of recognition. Was it too much to ask for a simple 'thank you' once in a while?

"_Please, ma'am, I want some more_," came a voice with an exaggerated English accent.

Acorn looked up to see Jack standing in front of her, holding out his paper plate, his deep brown eyes innocent—though not quite as innocent as young Oliver Twist's.

"Mr. Kelly, this food is for the children," said Jonathan pointedly, frowning.

Jack was undeterred. "The kids alone aren't gonna finish all that," he argued, pointing behind Acorn's head at the twenty-something pizza boxes still unopened. "Let us help take some of those off your hands before they get cold and no one wants them."

"_Haha_, Mr. Kelly. Nice try." Without a second's glance, Jonathan was back to serving the children.

Jack's eyes narrowed and went out of focus, as though he were carefully measuring his options.

_It certainly was a nice try_, Acorn thought to herself. At least, she was sold—though she wouldn't admit to whether it was Jack's logic or his Oliver Twist impression that convinced her. She met his eyes then, and he gave her an easy smile as he made to leave.

Acorn held up a finger and tilted her head to the right, silently asking him to wait at the far end of the serving table. He read her signal. When Jonathan was preoccupied with announcing the Pulitzer Tour to one of the kids, Acorn stealthily grabbed a pizza box and slid it towards the waiting Jack. He caught it smoothly in his hands and she fully expected him to hurry away before Jonathan spotted him.

But he paused a moment to grin and whisper something loud enough for only her to hear: "Thanks, Miss Acorn."

* * *

_Human Resources_

Two more e-mail responses and she would be all caught up—for the time being. It never took long for another flurry of messages to find its way to Irish's inbox.

She checked the time, saw that it was already half past two, and realized that she hadn't yet had lunch. Irish decided that, as soon as she finished replying to all her messages, it was time for a bite to eat. Just as she stretched out her fingers and placed them on the keyboard to recommence her work, Irish spotted from the corner of her eye a small boy standing inches from her desk. His dark hair reached down to his ears and his round eyes stared up at her inquiringly. She hadn't heard him come in.

"Hi Tumbler," she greeted, recognizing him instantly. This was the kid that took to Skittery almost immediately at the last "Bring Your Kids to Work Day."

"Hi IF."

A few seconds of silence ticked past as Irish watched Tumbler expectantly and Tumbler simply studied the office.

"Did you need something?" she finally asked.

He shrugged innocently. "No."

She squinted her eyes suspiciously. She'd dealt with her fair share of kids at the family Christmas dinners to know when one wanted something. "Okay, what is it?"

"What? Nothing. Just wondering."

"Wondering what?"

He shrugged again. She was getting frustrated now as a new message landed in her inbox—sent from Justine from her Blackberry. Irish sighed. This message she had to reply to immediately.

"I was wondering who that girl was that Skittery's always hanging around."

Tumbler's words sunk in slowly. "I… don't know. I wouldn't know anything about that," she stuttered, feeling inexplicably stung.

"But I thought you guys were friends."

_Whatever gave him that impression?_ It was true—Skittery and Irish were friends. At least, she thought they were. In the last couple of months, she couldn't help but feel that a barrier had risen between them. At the first "Bring Your Kids to Work Day," Irish had tried to overcome that odd barrier by sitting with Skittery at lunch. It was there that she met Tumbler.

Ultimately, Irish failed to coax Skittery into talking to her. He uttered about two words as Irish chattered away, explaining to Tumbler how Skittery and she met as interns and how they quickly bonded over music.

A muffled ringing interrupted her thoughts. No doubt it was Justine, suspecting that Irish was gallivanting about instead of working in the office. Irish reached for her handbag and fumbled through its contents, extracting a compact, a piece of gum, her eyeliner, lip gloss, Metro Card, a crumpled pack of cigarettes, until she finally found her phone.

"Hello? Hi, Justine, how is the conference? Yes, I got your e-mail. Well, I… I was just about to send it. No, I… I had someone in my office so I couldn't—yes. Okay, I will. Right now. Bye, Justine."

As soon as the call was over, Irish took to her computer. She hated having to listen to Justine's berating. If she didn't reply to her e-mail within the next two minutes, she was sure to get an earful about it tomorrow.

A movement to her left caught her attention. Dragging her eyes from the screen, she spied Tumbler staring back at her with wide eyes.

Before she could ask what the matter was, he exclaimed, "You _smoke_?" He held her cigarettes in his hand.

"Tumbler, hand those over," she said, her tone no-nonsense.

He leapt from his seat and started backing towards the door. "Smoking kills!" And to her shock, he took off running.

"Tumbler!" she called, flustered. She ran to the door. "Tumbler, come back here—that's not a toy! Pie, catch him!"

Pie lazily looked up from his desk. "Wha?"

"I said—nevermind!" Irish herself sped down the corridor and out the office, trying valiantly to catch the agile Tumbler in her heels.

Already at the end of the hall, Tumbler was struggling to push open the ridiculously hefty door to the stairs. _Oh, please, not the stairs!_ Irish thought frantically. "Tumbler!"

She shouldn't have called out. Seeing Irish closing in on him, Tumbler summoned all his strength to ram into the door and squeeze through the brief opening. He disappeared from her view.

She picked up her pace, the clicking of her heels now bouncing off the walls and echoing throughout the stairwell. Down and further down the winding stairs she went, listening all the while for Tumbler's footsteps ahead of her.

This wild goose chase for a pack of cigarettes? _Yes_, she answered grumpily. For one thing, cigarettes were expensive. The matter she was more concerned about, however, was what would happen if Tumbler's mother caught sight of her young son waving around _Irish's_ smokes. There was also the disarmingly eagle-eyed Jonathan to worry about, who had a knack for popping in when least expected. She didn't even want to think about his reaction—it was sure to be annoying.

Gasping for air, Irish nearly collapsed when she reached the basement. She couldn't believe she had just run down over ten flights of stairs—and in her brand new shoes!

Emerging, exhausted, on the other side of the door, she immediately spotted Tumbler at the other end of the hall. "Tumbler," Irish called warningly, starting towards him.

"Hi, IF," he said brightly, as though this were all a game to him.

Upon seeing his innocent smile, Irish felt her irritation begin to dissipate. Tumbler was just a kid after all. Now that she thought about it, he was clearly bored and simply wanted someone to play with. But, as the throbbing in her feet reminded, did he have to come into _her_ office and steal _her_ cigarettes and make her run him down in her new shoes? Where was Tumbler's idol, Skittery, when she needed him?

She finally caught up with the mischievous boy. "All right, you had your fun. Please give those back to me now," she said, her hand outstretched.

"You want 'em?" he asked, holding up her cigarettes.

"Yes."

"What's the magic word?"

"_Now_."

He flinched slightly at her tone, but the impish smile was quick to return. "Okay…" he mumbled, taking a few cautious steps back. "Then… go get 'em!"

And then everything was a blur. Small, hooded figures darted all around her. The door ahead of her flew open ominously. Irish saw Tumbler toss her cigarette box in the air and, tipping forward, she tried ineffectually to catch it. She realized her mistake too late. Irish had walked right into their trap. She felt herself being pushed forward, through the open door, into the abyss.

Irish crashed into something soft, which in return let out a surprised, "_Oomf!_" She sucked in her breath before letting out a sharp yell and stumbling backwards. Her back hit the door—the closed door—and the panic set in. She was trapped in this pitch dark, crowded room… and there was _someone else_ in there with her.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

A gasp, and then: "Irish Flare? Is it really you?"

She frowned. "Yes… who are you?"

"It's me, Snitch!"

"… Snitch?"

"Yeah, the IT intern. I sent you a poem on Halfsies Day, remember?"

She remembered all too well. Irish buried her face in her hands. _Oh, god_.

* * *

_Finance Office_

"Just got a text from Specs. He's been in the mailroom all this time."

"The mailroom? What's he doing down there?" inquired Bumlets.

David shook his head and sighed. "Remember what I told you yesterday about 'Bring Your Kids to Work Day'? Couple of the kids trashed the mailroom this morning."

"Wha—really?"

"Yeah. Specs was helping Dutchy clean up the mess. He'll be up in a few minutes so we can get started on that report."

Bumlets leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin contemplatively. "I remember Specs going on about how much he hated the mailroom, though."

"Yeah, he did and he does. He said he got suckered in by some pretty intern today," David explained with a chuckle.

"Ah, well, that explains it," Bumlets said, grinning. He stretched his arms above his head. "If Specs is coming up, I guess the mailroom is all fixed up?"

"Doesn't sound like it. Apparently, HR is sending down their intern to take his place in cleaning up the fiasco."

Bumlets perked up. "Their intern?" Briefly, he fiddled with his pen, tapping it anxiously on the desk. Polaroid was the only intern at HR, he knew. "You don't think they need more help, do you? I mean, it sounds like it's chaos down there. I wouldn't mind helping out…"

As Bumlets and David discussed the unfortunate state of the mailroom, neither noticed the arrival of two small hooded figures. These shadowed figures crept silently into the office. They carried between them a large and hefty garbage bag. It wasn't until they stood in front of David's cubicle that they were finally acknowledged.

"Oh hey, Les," David said, greeting his younger sibling. He nodded towards the blonde boy next to his brother. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Devon, our new pal," Les introduced nonchalantly. "We call him Slider."

"Cool; hey, Slider. I'm David, Les' older brother."

"Yeah, hi."

"What're you guys up to?" asked Bumlets, eyeing the bag in their hands.

"Ya know, this and that," Les answered vaguely. He tugged at the garbage bag. "Actually, we wanted to ask you guys for a favor."

"Yeah? How can we help?" said Bumlets affably.

"It's the stuff in this bag, see," Les indicated. To David and Bumlet's puzzlement, Les and Slider simultaneously swung the bag back for momentum.

They weren't quick enough to foresee the kids' intentions. Suddenly, shreds of papers, ping pong balls, empty plastic bottles, and other various stuffs flew into the air… and promptly fell on their heads. The two jumped back too late in an attempt to escape the falling junk and recyclables. David immediately realized they'd been had—by his own little brother.

"I'm telling mom!" he yelled to Les, who was already at the door. His brother turned round long enough to stick his tongue out at David.

"Have fun cleaning that up, suckers!" Slider shouted back.

Bumlets and David were rather dumbfounded and were gathering their wits when an ominous voice chilled the air: "_What is the meaning of this?_" Mr. Snyder was on his feet, eyes bulging with rage.

Flabbergasted as they were, the two were taken aback by Snyder's fury and could only sputter in response, pointing at the door through which the kids had disappeared.

David tried to explain. "It's 'Bring Your Kids to Work' Day… my brother—I mean—these kids, they, I guess they were bored…" He shouldn't have mentioned Les and now he was stumbling over his words—a rare occurrence for him, the Walking Mouth—trying to remedy his verbal slip.

"_Your brother_, Mr. Jacobs? The younger Jacobs is the cause of this _disarray_?"

"Uh…"

"I should have expected as much. Straighten this place up _immediately_," Snyder commanded. The chill in his voice discouraged argument.

"This sucks," Bumlets muttered once Snyder was out of earshot. "What's up with your brother, man?"

David could only sigh. He should have seen this coming. After the first "Bring Your Kids to Work" Day, Les had acted far too pleased with himself and David wasn't able to figure out why. Now he knew: his little brother was part of the rogue group terrorizing the company.

* * *

_Mailroom_

"I sure hope those two brought their water guns today," sighed Specs as he lazily tossed mail into what he hoped were the appropriate bins.

"Ha! Race and Swifty said they'd bring their Super Soakers? Man, I'm broke as hell but I'd pay to see them try get back at those kids."

The pair shuffled around each other as they tried to get the mail sorted. Even after several hours, their restoral efforts barely made a dent. The rogue children had quite a job of wrecking the mailroom indeed.

"Hey, I have a question," Dutchy piped up suddenly. "Why didn't these kids get Jonathan?"

Specs raised a brow at his friend. "How do you know they didn't?"

"'Cause if they did, ya think Jonathan would've scheduled another 'Bring Your Kids to Work' Day?"

Specs flung another a crumpled envelope and paused. "You're right."

"I mean, he's an easy target."

"The easiest target," Specs agreed.

"So why didn't they?"

"'Cause he's with kids all day, giving those company tours," answered Jack as he and David entered the mailroom, "and they won't risk attacking one of their own." He leaned his elbows against a turned-over bin and flashed an excited grin. "Guess what we learned?"

Dutchy and Specs, sensing big news, stopped sorting mail and stepped over packages towards their friends. "What?"

Jack spread his arms out wide and smugly announced, "Fellas, I'm immune."

"What're you talking about?" Specs questioned.

Jack pointed a thumb in David's direction, who looked downright sullen, and said, "Guess whose brother is a rogue?"

The bespectacled pair frowned. "You talking about Les? Les has gone rogue?" asked Dutchy.

"Apparently he'll terrorize his own brother," David mumbled. He then briefly described the flying recyclables fiasco.

"Chucked _garbage_ at _his own brother_," Jack repeated, laughing.

"Wait, wait, wait. So the kid got at his own sibling… how does that make _you_ immune?" said Specs.

"Guys," Jack began, as though the answer was obvious, "Davey's just his brother. Les and me are pals. Think about it—the first Kids Day, the rogue group went crazy on everyone on our floor... except me. Ergo, I'm immune."

"_Oh_," Dutchy uttered with understanding. But something bothered Specs about Jack's explanation. He vaguely recalled swapping nightmarish stories about the little terrors back in April with his co-workers, and there was one person who obviously came out of the day's ordeal unscathed, considering how oblivious said person was to the chaos that had swept through the company that ill-fated day. It was after a few moments of reflection when he was able to pinpoint the problem. "That's some solid logic there, Jack, except for one thing."

Jack looked skeptical. "What's that?"

"You weren't the only one on your floor who was unaffected on the first Kids Day. Skittery was spared, too."

* * *

Pegasus sulked as she waited for the elevator. It was almost 4:30 and still there was no sign of Mr. Jones or of his kidnapper. Preoccupied all day with hopeful thoughts of Mr. Jones' safe return, she was barely able to finish any work. With the chaos in the office — which included whoopee cushions, more exploding pens, more missing personal items and ransom notes, crank calls, mustachios on posters — no one on the floor was particularly productive.

She was on her way back to the Communications floor. She hated to be a pest, but Peg was compelled to visit Jean once more to ask about her brother's whereabouts. The elevator gave a _ding!_ and the doors parted with a mechanic groan.

To Peg's surprise, Swifty and Race stood inside, appearing quite dejected and very obviously soaked. "What happened to you guys?" she asked as they sulked out.

"Nothin'," Race muttered sourly, trudging towards the Lab without a second's glance.

Swifty was more compliant. "We got beat at our own game," he explained as he lifted his Super Soaker, which was half-full of sloshing water.

He didn't have to clarify any further: Peg understood immediately that the rogue children had struck yet again. "How?"

"Pelted us with water balloons." Swifty rubbed at his temples, his disappointment clear. "Any luck with Indy?"

She shook her head. "I'm going to go ask Jeans again."

"Good luck."

_I'll need it_, she thought as she stepped into the elevator. Mr. Jones was not a toy — he was a collector's item. In a child's hands, the carefully sculpted Mr. Jones replica could get scratched. His detailed accessories could go missing. She didn't even want to think about what might have happened to his signature hat. When the elevator let her off at the sixth floor, Peg was ready to expect the worst. Filled with dread, she willed her heavy feet closer and closer to the Communications office.

Just as she pushed open the door, prepared to face the bad news, a voice behind her caused her to whip around. Eyes wide and ears alert, she zoned in on the voice and her footsteps feverishly lead her to its source. Turning the corner, she spotted him:

Mr. Jones' kidnapper.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be at your desk," he said, speaking into his phone. "No, jeez, I didn't make any trouble, sis. What ransom note? I didn't write any—"

"_You!_" Peg roared.

Snipeshooter promptly snapped shut his phone, taken aback by Peg's sudden appearance.

"Give him back," she demanded.

"What're you talking about?" he retorted, regaining his composure.

"My Indiana Jones collectible action figure. You've had your fun, now return him to me."

"Why should I? By the way, you're in the guy's bathroom."

Peg paused. She was indeed standing in the men's restroom, but she was too desperate to recover Mr. Jones from the thief to care. "Listen, _little kid_," she said, pointing a menacing finger at him, "if you don't give him back, that's called stealing. I could report you for that."

"_Oh no_, please don't _report_ me!" He rolled his eyes. "What's in it for me? You got something to trade for Indy's life?"

Peg was dumbfounded. _Trade?_ She wasn't giving this kid diddly-squat for what he put her through!

"Whatcha got there?" He eyed the bag in her left hand. "Ya know what, I'll make this super easy. I'll return Indy… for those _Crumbs_ cupcakes."

"Say what?" Peg clung onto the bag protectively. After all the trouble she went to to buy the cupcakes and safely transport them to work, there was no way she was going to hand them over to this rogue child. "No deal."

"Say goodbye, then." Snipeshooter roughly pulled Mr. Jones out of his backpack and started towards one of the stalls. It was clear that he meant to drown Mr. Jones.

"No! Wait…" She quickly weighed her options. On one hand, there was Mr. Jones. On the other, there were two friends who had been waiting all day for cupcakes. Peg sighed remorsefully.

A minute later, she walked out of the men's restroom with Mr. Jones carefully tucked in her arms.

* * *

_The Lab_

Tumbler raised his head above Skittery's divider. Skittery was hard at work on his computer, but once he caught sight of the Tumbler, he gave him a wry smile. "Hey kid, where ya been?"

"Hi Skittery!" Tumbler leapt into his cubicle. "You busy?"

"Sorta, nothing urgent. What's up?"

"I was just wondering," he said.

"Wondering what?" Skittery prodded when he didn't continue.

"I was wondering who that girl was that you were hanging out with all day," he finished.

Skittery lifted a brow. "What girl—oh, Peg? She's my co-worker. I was just helping her find something." He didn't mention that Peg, in order to track down Mr. Jones, was using Skittery as a shield as well as to lure members of the rogue group, for she was wholeheartedly convinced that Tumbler was a rogue. Skittery wasn't too sure about that. Tumbler had a mischievous side, sure, but was he one to wreak mass havoc on an entire company?

"I talked to Irish Flare today," Tumbler mentioned. "You guys are still friends, right?"

He didn't expect that question. "Huh? Yeah. Yeah, we're still friends." He couldn't help but ask, "Why?"

"I dunno. She looked kinda sad when I asked about you," he answered absently, fiddling with the notes and papers on Skittery's desk.

_She did?_ "Oh yeah?" He feigned interest in his work, staring at his monitor. Cautiously, he asked, "What'd she say?"

"She said…" Tumbler trailed off and became silent. Skittery chanced a glance at the kid and saw that he stood frozen, eyes wide with panic. "Uh-oh…" he whispered.

"What is it?"

Tumbler, looking very guilty, hesitated. He twiddled his thumbs and fidgeted uncomfortably. Finally, when he saw no way out of his predicament with Skittery watching him so intently, Tumbler confessed, "I think she might be in trouble."

When Skittery got a full understanding of the situation — and dimly realized that Peg had been right about Tumbler being rogue — he moved quickly. He and Tumbler hurried up to Communications and tracked down Snipeshooter, from whom he snatched the custodial keys. Then they raced down to the basement and to the far end of the hallway. Tumbler stood back as Skittery knocked on the door while fumbling with the mass of keys. A muffled, frantic yell answered.

It took a few minutes, but he finally found the right key and, twisting it about in the lock, pulled open the custodial door. From the darkness, Irish Flare, appearing uncharacteristically disheveled and distraught, emerged. Her eyes watered with tears of relief. With no word of warning, she threw her arms around Skittery.

He stood stunned, even as Snitch — Skittery had wondered where this kid was all day — appeared out of the closet just after Irish, squinting from the bright light. "Skitts, you saved us!" he announced gratefully. And then he, too, wrapped his arms around Skittery. His next words came out muffled: "You don't happen to have some food with you, do ya? I'm starving…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Finally. I can hardly believe it's been over a year since this has been updated! It's been ages since I've spent a whole day writing and, I have to say, I really missed it. Thank you's to Adren, Rags, Repeat, Song For A Rainy Day, Swayy, stress, Polaroid, Acorn, and Austra for your reviews!


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